MeowthTL

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 187

Chapter 187: Malfoy’s Flying Practice, Slytherin Publicity

The Room of Requirement.

“Harry, this thing works better than a wand,” Ron said, practically buzzing. “No incantation, just press the button. Shame it only does one thing.”

He held up something shaped a bit like a Muggle hairdryer and excitedly explained what it could do. When the training dummy wobbled closer on its track, Ron aimed the “hairdryer”, pressed the switch, and runes on the casing flashed.

A transparent blast of compressed air shot out like a cannon, slamming into the dummy and sending it skidding back hard.

The noise drew attention. The others who were practising Defence Against the Dark Arts and duelling techniques all looked over at once, curiosity and confusion written on their faces.

Ron cradled the device and jogged over to Leonardo. “Leonardo, have a look. Did I do it right?”

Leonardo took it and examined the structure.

This was the rough concept Leonardo had proposed, with a few explanations and bits of guidance along the way. The rest Ron had built himself, a simple alchemical tool with a very casual name: the Air Gun.

It combined basic charms, a sealing charm, a compression charm, and an acceleration charm, condensing air and firing it in a burst. The power was decent. If it could blast a dummy away, it could blast a person away too.

It would not cripple anyone, but its real advantage was speed. For an inexperienced wizard, it was faster than fumbling through a spell.

This term, Leonardo had begun formally teaching Harry and the others Defence Against the Dark Arts. They sparred in pairs, in small groups, and sometimes one against many—because only through real combat could what they learned become true skill.

Everyone’s progress was solid, some with talent, some with strong fundamentals.

Ron was the exception, and it was not entirely his fault. His wand dragged him down. Using an older brother’s hand-me-down meant the fit was poor, and that always affected casting.

Still, thanks to Leonardo’s earlier reinforcement and modifications on the flying car, Ron’s wand had not snapped in the crash. At least it would not backfire spells into his own face.

Ron had fretted over the wand issue. Leonardo had thought he might be able to replace it early, considering his twin brothers had started making money.

It was obvious that, even if the twins loved winding Ron up, they were protective of him. Around the Christmas holidays, they would probably take him to buy a new wand, a wand that actually suited him.

So for now, Leonardo let Ron work on simple alchemy like this, things that could be adjusted and improved as he went. Once Ron had a proper wand, he could focus on spells and duelling in earnest.

“Not bad,” Leonardo said, then pointed with his fingertip. “But this rune line here, and this junction…”

With Leonardo’s explanation, Ron immediately understood the issue. He scampered off to fix it, almost tripping over his own feet.

When he finished, he tossed his wand aside and started happily firing the Air Gun at the dummy, bang bang bang. He muttered that it was just convenient, and that Muggles had something similar too, some sort of metal wand…

The tutoring session ended quickly.

After everyone else left, Draco Malfoy drifted over to Leonardo’s side and asked casually, “Leonardo, I remember you’re very good at flying. So how are you at Quidditch, like Seeker?”

Leonardo looked at Malfoy’s expression, the way he wanted to laugh but kept holding it back, and thought it was odd. Malfoy was in Slytherin. It was not like Cho Chang from Ravenclaw, constantly trying to recruit people into the house team.

Then Leonardo remembered. This was the year Malfoy planned to sponsor Slytherin. Lucius Malfoy would buy the team Nimbus 2001s, and Draco would slide neatly onto the team as Seeker.

“So,” Leonardo said, “planning to settle things with Harry on the pitch?”

Malfoy’s mouth finally broke into a grin. “Ha. Leonardo, you really do see everything. Gryffindor won’t be kissing the Quidditch Cup this year.”

“I’ve already got Flint’s approval,” Malfoy continued, meaning Marcus Flint, Slytherin captain. “I’ll be the team Seeker soon. Since your flying’s so good, could you give me some guidance, and maybe practise with me?”

He paused, then hurriedly added, “Of course. The tutoring fee is separate.”

Malfoy pulled out a magic book and stuffed it into Leonardo’s pocket as payment. Leonardo opened the pocket without fuss, while thinking, so much for the idea that foreigners do not understand social etiquette.

“If you want practice,” Leonardo said, “doesn’t the team train together?”

Malfoy clicked his tongue, looking annoyed and a little embarrassed. “Leonardo, do you remember Slytherin’s playing style? I can’t just fit into it that quickly, so…”

Slytherin’s style.

Leonardo thought back to the matches he had watched last year. Slytherin was the most savage of the lot. It was less Quidditch and more hitting people while technically holding a ball.

And Quidditch rules even built in legal aggression. Beaters could smash Bludgers at opposing players. An attack mechanic, written openly into the sport.

Only the wizarding world could play like that. Here, shattered bones and concussions counted as minor injuries.

Leonardo remembered Flint too, broad as a wardrobe and built like he enjoyed headbutting walls. As captain, he naturally set the tone for the entire team.

He looked at Malfoy’s slim frame. Yes. It really did not match Slytherin’s usual brute-force vibe.

But a Seeker needed agility. More importantly, a Seeker needed sharp reflexes and excellent flying.

Leonardo was confident he could tutor Malfoy for Quidditch. Flying skill was only part of it. Magic Sight gave Leonardo an absurd vision, the kind that completely crushed high-speed tracking.

Besides, he had been working on broom design lately. He had even bought several popular brooms on the market to study them.

This was a perfect chance to gather data and test ideas.

Broomsticks were a huge market.

First, there was demand. Quidditch was practically the wizarding world’s national sport. Wizards’ enthusiasm for it did not need proving.

It was not only professional teams. Plenty of wizarding families played casually too. When Leonardo visited the Burrow, he had played a few rounds with Ron and the twins.

Second, there was competition. The strongest brooms on the market were the Nimbus line, which outclassed Comet and Cleansweep by a wide margin. As for the Firebolt, that was not even on the scene yet.

Leonardo was confident he could develop a broom faster and better than the Nimbus.

That confidence came from being Nicolas Flamel’s student and from having SS plus alchemy talent.

“OK,” Leonardo said. “No problem.”

Malfoy looked like he was about to celebrate when Leonardo added, “Oh, right. Your custom map is ready. Want to check it?”

The moment Malfoy saw the map in Leonardo’s hand, that restrained, refined elegance to it, his grey eyes lit up.

This money had been well spent.

Worth every Knut.

…

The Slytherin common room.

A crowd of students surrounded Malfoy, fascinated by the exquisite map spread across a table.

“So many routes. And it can pick the fastest way?”

“So Hogwarts really has secret passages. We should go look tonight.”

“Wait, why does it show a name? Argus Filch… Filch?”

“And Mrs Norris. It even shows Filch’s cat.”

The more energetic students, the ones with a taste for sneaking about at night, immediately understood the map’s value. Yes, you could fool a Squib and a normal cat with magic, but if you noticed too late, you still got caught.

Meanwhile, some students who had bought ordinary maps stared harder, growing unhappy.

“The patterns are so detailed. Why doesn’t mine look like that?”

“Exactly. Why doesn’t mine show Filch and that cat’s location?”

“Draco, didn’t you buy yours from the Seventh Workshop too?”

A few wealthy pure-bloods had purchased the most expensive, most comprehensive standard map. Now they took theirs out and compared it directly to Malfoy’s.

Malfoy enjoyed being the centre of attention. The envy in their eyes made his lips curl. He gave a small cough, as if granting the room permission to admire him.

“This was custom-made for me by Leonardo,” he said. “Of course it’s not some mass-market thing.”

He tapped the map with his wand. When his magic flowed over it, the most prominent area revealed the Malfoy family crest.

Black, green, and silver, with a fire-dragon and serpent motif.

Across a silver ribbon was written tiny Latin text:

“Sanctimonia Vincet Semper”

Meaning: “Purity Will Always Conquer”

There was also the Slytherin crest, a lively serpent winding in a circle, and faint, gleaming gold edging that shimmered in and out of view.

There were a lot of elements, but they were combined with remarkable finesse. It did not look cluttered. It looked luxurious.

The students holding ordinary maps felt sick. Compared to this, their maps really did look like cheap standard versions.

“See?” Malfoy said, enjoying it. “This is made personally by Leonardo, and it even has an exclusive logo.”

He flipped the map over, revealing the mark in the top left corner. It appeared as magic poured in: an eagle formed of books, wings spread, and beneath it the initials in bold capitals, L.G.

Someone muttered under their breath, “Why does the custom one even have a prettier logo than mine…”

The younger students were mostly there for the spectacle, but among the sixth- and seventh-years who had taken alchemy electives, some of them saw something else.

They could not fully understand the alchemical craftsmanship inside this map, but they could sense it was not ordinary.

Leonardo Grafton was a familiar name. Last Halloween, he had set the Great Hall ablaze, and at the end of the year, he had won Ravenclaw the House Cup.

“Draco,” someone finally asked, “how many Galleons did this cost?”

Malfoy lifted his chin arrogantly, waiting for exactly this.

“Galleons?”

He repeated the word, light as air.

“For a Malfoy, value has never been measured in Galleons. It is measured in taste. Anything worthy of my approval is naturally a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.”

Plenty of people thought Malfoy was putting on an act. And yet the words hit them right in the chest.

Yes. Pure-blood. Nobility. Dignity.

Wasn’t the whole point being different?

Suddenly, Malfoy turned and gave Blaise Zabini a sideways look, smiling.

“Blaise. What do you think of this map? Look at the workmanship.”

He pointed at the golden-and-emerald stitched label that read VIP Map No. 1, bright and impossible to miss.

Blaise Zabini, a dark-skinned boy with narrow brown eyes, was in the same year as Malfoy and also pure-blood.

The question was abrupt. Worse, Malfoy’s tone and expression made Zabini uncomfortable for reasons he did not care to analyse. Zabini frowned. Since when was a map something worth showing off?

Even so, the design was tasteful, and the features were convenient. It did suit pure-blood elegance and image.

With a swift motion, Zabini stood. He did not say a word. He adjusted his collar and walked straight for the common room exit.

It was just a map. As if he could not afford one.

His mother had had seven husbands.

Seven.

And when those stepfathers died, the massive inheritances all went to Mrs Zabini.

The Malfoys had history, sure, but no one should underestimate Zabini and the bonds he had with his “dear stepfathers”.

And plenty of other pure-bloods were thinking along the same lines.

The Malfoys were doing well among pure-blood families, but everyone knew why. They had survived by picking sides at the right time. In plain terms, they were opportunists.

Still, that map looked genuinely impressive. Refined, elegant, and most importantly, it carried an exclusive mark. What true pure-blood could tolerate not owning something that loudly proved their status?

As for the older students studying alchemy, they were truly curious now. Was this kind of alchemical tool really made by a second-year student?

Even Ravenclaw, famous for wit and learning, should not be this absurd.

It was worth buying one to study. For most Slytherins, money was just a number.

Watching Zabini’s silent departure, Malfoy felt thoroughly pleased. He was also glad he had a connection with Leonardo. That was why the Weasley twins had let him cut the queue.

Otherwise, wouldn’t Zabini have stolen the spotlight instead?

…

After collecting the new custom-map orders and their detailed requests from the twins, Leonardo returned to the Ravenclaw common room.

He flipped through the stack, scanning the bizarre mix of designs and demands.

Some wanted their name engraved. Some wanted a family crest. Some wanted a motto.

And then there were the couples’ maps, filled with declarations of love.

Merlin.

Leonardo felt his skin crawl at some of the lines.

Still, it was not a bad idea. Bundled sales.

Link certain products to love or friendship, and sell a story along with the item. Like diamonds lasting forever, or rings you can only customise once in your lifetime.

All marketing gimmicks.

All effective.

Leonardo the black-hearted businessman could clock in now.

He put the stack away, quietly impressed by how well Malfoy’s “promotion” had worked.

When Leonardo handed Malfoy the map, he had only told him to spread the word a little in Slytherin about the custom VIP version. The rest had been Malfoy’s own performance.

Malfoy was loud by nature, and plenty of Slytherins knew him. He was practically born to advertise.

Clearly, he had riled up a lot of them.

Since Malfoy had helped so much, Leonardo decided that in the next flying practice session, he could push Malfoy properly.

No free lessons.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 443

Chapter 443: The Mind Dragon’s Projection, A Linked Soul

“We can’t just sit here and wait to die. Is there anything we can do?” Hermione shouted.

Harry plunged his hand into the bag with the Extension Charm, rummaging frantically for anything that could get them out of this mess.

His fingers hit a familiar cover.

“Aiden’s book?” Harry froze for a split second.

“What good is that bloody thing?” Ron snatched the book and hurled it down into the lower hall.

A green curse struck the book in mid-air.

“Ow, that hurts. Which bastard did that?” A clear, pleasant teenage voice suddenly rose in all of their minds.

“Aiden?” all three blurted out.

They whipped their heads around, searching the corners, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

The book that had hit the floor erupted with thick grey fog, surging straight towards the Ukrainian Ironbelly.
The dragon’s scales, pale from years underground, were quickly stained by the grey. Its pupils shifted, slowly filling with amber and deep blue.
The grey-white dragon lifted its head.
And spoke.

“Ron Weasley, you’re finished. I’m telling you right now!”

“Move, get on it!” Hermione reacted first.
She raised her wand and fired a Reductor Curse.
The railing in front of her shattered into pieces. Hermione vaulted over without hesitation and landed on the dragon’s back.

Aiden let out a long, rumbling breath, turning his head toward the stream of security wizards rushing in from the side.

Then he exhaled.

A wide cone of flame blasted out. The guards scattered behind pillars, too afraid to stand in the open gaps, not if they fancied becoming charcoal.

But the mental spike threaded through the flames was not something stone could stop. The brute force of mind power pierced their spirits and dropped them into a baby-deep sleep.

“Hold on tight. We’re getting out!” Aiden called back.

“Relashio!” Hermione snapped.

The chains behind Aiden clattered loose, falling away, and the three of them clung on as the dragon began to climb upward.

In the main hall of Gringotts, the goblins at the far edge heard the commotion below and looked up towards the first vault gate.

Then a dragon smashed through the gate and the floor together, roaring as it thrust its head into the hall.

The oversight wizards fled instantly.

The goblins, with their counters set so high, had to scramble down and were far too slow.

“Hmph. Goblins,” the dragon said, contempt thick in his eyes.

He opened his mouth again.

This time there was no fire.

Yet a storm swept the hall.

Raging mind power surged out and snuffed the goblins’ already fragile inner light like candles in the wind.

Aiden closed his mouth, nodded in satisfaction, then shattered Gringotts’ glass dome and flung his wings wide, flying into the distance.

“Cool,” Ron breathed. “I really want to learn this turning-into-a-dragon magic.”

“You can,” Aiden replied casually, somehow finding the spare breath. “Start by learning the prerequisite Essence Transmutation Charm. I gave you a book for it last Christmas. It should still be wedged under the front-left corner of your bed.”

“You’re exposing me again,” Ron grumbled, thumping Aiden’s back. “Just you wait. When we get back, I’m actually learning it this time!”

Aiden carried them over London, then headed for the Scottish Highlands.

Plenty of wizards tried to track them.

But tracking a Visionary?

No chance. They were gone in an instant.

One bad report after another reached Tom, until she finally snapped and began slaughtering her way through Gringotts.

“What do we do now?” Ron asked.

“We’ve got two Horcruxes left,” Harry said, staring at Aiden as he flew. “But we don’t know where to look.”

“Go back to Hogsmeade,” Aiden said. His voice grew heavy, almost solemn.
“Find Ethan. Have him take you to Edmond. The final battle is drawing near.”

Then he added quietly, “And one more thing. My time’s up. You lot, do your best. Heh.”

The dragon turned his head and gave the three of them a wink.

“Huh?” They still had not processed it when grey fog started pouring off the Ukrainian Ironbelly’s body.

In an instant, the dragon reverted back to its original white. It lost lift and dropped towards the lake below.

“Aaaah!”

Three young wizards fell through the sky, their screams echoing between mountains and water.

The dragon, now fully awake again, flapped its wings and flew off on its own.

Splash!

They hit the freezing lake and went under.

That shock, that extreme surge of emotion, snapped Harry into his connection with Voldemort’s mind.

He saw Tom carving through Gringotts, killing witches, wizards, and goblins alike until the floor ran slick with blood.

Barefoot, she walked through the red pool as if it were nothing.

“Another one has fallen into his hands. We’ll be harmed. I need to hide you, my friend,” Tom hissed to a great snake in Parseltongue.

The Malfoys bowed their heads, not daring to look at her. Bellatrix watched Tom with worship in her eyes.

“Bella. Gather them,” Tom barked. “A full search. Use the Imperius Curse on those lazy fools. Put them completely under control!”

Her sharp voice rang through Gringotts.

It rang through Harry’s skull too, sharp as a blade.

“Urgh!” Harry clutched his forehead. “She’s about to start hunting us.”

“You let her into your mind again. That’s too dangerous,” Hermione said urgently, already digging clean clothes out of the bag.

“It’s not something I can control,” Harry said, yanking off his soaked things with shaking hands. “And if I don’t see it, we won’t know they’ve started the hunt.”

The temperature in Britain was brutal. After freezing lake water, if they did not change immediately, they would be ill within the hour.

They Apparated to Hogsmeade, only to find it locked down tight. Tom had concentrated half her forces here.

The three of them could only dodge and hide, inching their way towards the Hog’s Head.

Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harry through the Invisibility Cloak.

Three spells snapped in at the same instant, firing towards the person behind them.

“Fire,” Ethan said, speaking a single word.
Magic turned his will into a spell. Ghostly blue flame flashed, and all three curses were burned away in a blink.

“Oi, was that really necessary?” Ethan drawled.

“Hmph. If you don’t have Aiden’s recognisability, don’t copy his disappearing act,” Ron muttered. “Or one day you’ll get hexed, and we won’t even pretend to be sad.”

Ethan laughed. “Stop being so harsh. I brought you a very good friend. Want to see?”

“Death Eaters are closing in!” Hermione, at the front, spotted them approaching.

They were nearly in range. Green light flickered on the wand tips.

Then a powerful surge of magic exploded behind the Death Eaters.

A golden clock, enormous and half-transparent, rose slowly into existence. Ripples of space and time passed softly through their bodies, freezing them mid-step like insects caught in amber.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 473

Chapter 473: Exam Month Begins

June arrived, and the whole of Hogwarts seemed to come alive with activity. Everyone moved with a sense of urgency, and the castle wore the unmistakable air of exam season. For fifth and seventh years, this was the time that would decide their futures—the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams loomed large.

For Sean, it meant facing both at once.

“Sean, you’ve sent off your paper?” Snape asked.

Sean nodded. “Yes, Professor.”

“Took you over two months to finish a paper with completed experiments and full data. The length of your essay could probably fill more than half of The Golden Cauldron.”

“A paper that takes up most of a journal?” Sean asked. “The last time I remember that happening was with Professor Dumbledore’s paper on the twelve uses of dragon’s blood.”

Snape nodded as he put the experimental equipment back in its place. “That’s right. Dumbledore’s paper took up half the journal. That was his greatest academic achievement.”

Dumbledore could have achieved far more in academia.

But both Sean and Snape knew Dumbledore had dedicated the rest of his life to fighting and defeating Dark Lords—first Grindelwald, and later Voldemort. As long as Dark Lords existed, Dumbledore would not return to academic pursuits.

“How are your exam preparations going?” Snape asked.

“Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts—those five subjects are no problem. The electives might be a little tricky, but I’ll still get the highest O grade. You can trust me on that, Professor.”

Snape nodded. “A full-O score is rare even in Hogwarts history. That kind of achievement will reduce the criticism you’ll face as Minister for Magic. So be careful during your exams. Don’t be careless.”

Sean paused for a moment, then grinned. “Professor, that’s not like you. Are you worried about me, your best student ever?”

At those words, Snape’s face twisted into a familiar sneer, ready to unleash a fresh wave of sarcasm.

Sean took the hint. “Goodbye, Professor!” he said, quickly slipping out of the office.

“I’ll bring back full O’s, Professor!”

Snape listened to the words echoing down the corridor. His eyelids dropped, and for the first time, a look of genuine pride and satisfaction crossed his face.

But as time passed, that smile faded. Snape looked at his right arm, the Dark Mark searing with a pain that had become almost unbearable. He knew Voldemort was urging him to act, and Voldemort was growing impatient.

June 10th

Exam day began.

Because the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams overlapped, Sean once again used his Time-Turner to attend both sets of exams at once.

It had to be said—the O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams were truly rigorous. Even Sean felt a little pressure, let alone the others.

Sean felt pressure because he had spent most of the year locked in a battle of wits with Voldemort and his followers, plus his own research in Potions and alchemy. He had not had much time for revision, which was why he felt that pressure.

But only a little.

After the written exams came the practicals.

For Sean, the only real challenge was the written part. Practical exams were never a worry.

“Could you please tell me what these three cards are?” asked the Ministry official seated at the table.

Sean nodded, but instead of reaching for the divination tools on the table, he passed his hand over each card. White mist swirled in his eyes.

“From left to right—Eight of Spades, Five of Hearts, and the Joker!”

The Ministry official looked at Sean and slowly nodded. “I had heard you had an exceptional gift for Divination, but until now I always had my doubts.”

“This is only the most basic form of Divination. If you can predict something more specific, perhaps I could give you…”

He did not finish, but Sean understood.

If Sean could demonstrate a higher level of Divination, then regardless of his written exam, he would receive the highest O grade. Magic was a practical subject; practical ability outweighed written results, especially when your practical skill far exceeded the norm.

Though Sean was confident in his written exam, he nodded.

“In that case, thank you, Professor, for this opportunity.”

He placed his hand over the examiner’s. Mist filled his eyes, and after a few breaths, it cleared.

“Professor, your favourite pendant was hidden behind the kitchen cabinet by your Kneazle. You can ask your house-elf, Rolf, to retrieve it.”

The examiner’s face lit up with excitement.

He would need to verify it, but he was already almost certain Sean was right. Only he, his wife, and his children knew about the missing pendant, and the fact that Sean had correctly named his house-elf, Rolf, convinced him of Sean’s Divination ability.

“Thank you for your prediction. Once I return home and confirm the pendant is there, I will award you full marks in Divination.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“No, thank you. Now hurry on to your next exam.”

Sean nodded and moved on to the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam. After a series of practical tests, he was asked to cast a Patronus.

Sean easily summoned his corporeal Patronus—a white snake. The examiners were very satisfied. If his written exam was up to standard, there was no doubt he would receive full marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

After finishing the Defence exam, Sean went to the boys’ bathroom, took out his Time-Turner, and began the exams he had not had time for that day.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 186

Chapter 186: Another Year of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Lockhart’s Plan

Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

Dressed in a pale gold robe and covered in medals pinned across his chest, Gilderoy Lockhart stood at the front, holding up a copy of one of his books and pointing at the photograph on the cover. The man in the photo smiled in perfect sync with the man on the podium.

“Although this is my first lesson with you, I’m sure you already know who I am,” Lockhart said, beaming. “Out of respect for teaching, I’ll do a proper introduction. Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award…”

He gave a light chuckle, as if sharing a private joke with the room. “Of course, a charming smile won’t drive off a werewolf.”

Lockhart looked ready to continue listing “his” accomplishments, but the moment his gaze landed on Leonardo, a twitch of unease flashed through him for no reason he could name. He cleared his throat quickly. “Ahem. We’ll begin with a little start-of-term quiz. Don’t worry, it’s only to see whether you’ve done any reading ahead.”

Unlike other professors who might send parchment floating neatly to each desk, Lockhart handed the papers out one by one himself. The simple act somehow drew soft squeals from a few of his admirers, as if he’d personally blessed them with his presence.

Leonardo took the paper and began to write. If anyone looked closely enough, though, they would notice it was the quill that was doing most of the work, guiding his hand across the page with suspicious confidence.

It was one of Leonardo’s own inventions: a reading-and-answering quill. Once fed knowledge, it could produce answers automatically, though only for things like multiple choice and fill-in-the-blank. Still, it was more than enough for Lockhart’s “quiz”, because the questions were things like:

“What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favourite flower?”
“Which adventure was the key to Gilderoy Lockhart receiving the Order of Merlin?”

All of it could be found word for word in Lockhart’s so-called autobiographies. To be fair, the adventure stories in those books were thrilling, and the measures for dealing with Dark creatures did have reference value. The original owners of those experiences had really lived them, after all, even if Lockhart had stolen them straight out of their minds.

The problem was that Lockhart stuffed in far too much nonsense of his own. Who cared what Christmas present he wanted? Leonardo had no desire to cram that sort of rubbish into his head.

Before long, the self-answering quill completed the entire absurd, infuriating paper for him.

Once the quizzes were collected, Lockhart began marking them on the spot. To his surprise, the only perfect score belonged to Leonardo Grafton.

Lockhart hesitated, the thought blooming in his mind with dangerous optimism. Could it be that Grafton was actually a devoted admirer, only shy and introverted, which was why he acted so aloof and hard to approach?

When Lockhart announced the results, he awarded Ravenclaw ten points.

After the Cornish pixie disaster in his previous class, Lockhart did not bring any “hands-on” creature demonstrations this time, not even a harmless one. He simply could not manage them.

“Defence Against the Dark Arts is a profoundly deep subject,” Lockhart proclaimed. “Theory matters, of course, but practice is equally indispensable…”

Some students, who had not heard the full details of his earlier fiasco, immediately looked hopeful. Last year with Quirrell had been nothing but listening to the textbook until their ears bled, and after an entire year, they had not even learned one proper technique for defending themselves against Dark magic. Perhaps this year would finally be different, with a professor who supposedly had real experience.

“So, I will personally describe my experiences dealing with Dark creatures,” Lockhart continued. “I may be an author, but words on a page can never match the vivid truth of spoken narrative. Now, on my trip to Tibet, the barbarism and stupidity of the Yeti…”

The hopeful students almost choked. This was not what they had meant by practice.

A handful of Lockhart fans, however, listened with shining eyes. Lockhart was certainly more entertaining than Quirrell reading aloud, and his stories were far more interesting than the textbook.

As he spoke, Lockhart’s enthusiasm rose higher and higher. “Would any student like to join me and reenact that adventure? I believe it will give everyone a unique learning experience!”

By chance, he saw Leonardo with his head lowered. Lockhart decided to call on this “introverted” student and allow him the honour of being close to his idol.

“Mr Grafton,” Lockhart said brightly, “would you like to come up and play the Yeti? The duel on the snowy peak.”

Leonardo looked up and smiled at him. “Sir, there’s no need to make it that complicated. If it’s a Yeti you need, I can conjure one for you.”

As he spoke, Leonardo drew his wand, and a faint glow gathered at its tip.

Lockhart’s heart lurched, a sudden chill crawling up his spine. He lifted a hand at once, voice too quick.

“Oh, no. No. We won’t be using wands in my classroom. That, that isn’t elegant.”

What Lockhart really feared was simple. Second-years could not cast anything truly devastating, but if a spell accidentally hit his handsome face and ruined the impression, that would be unforgivable.

He hurriedly chose a different student instead and forced the class through an awkward little performance that felt more like a bad school play than a lesson.

When the bell rang, Lockhart praised the student he’d dragged into it, offering encouragement in an almost syrupy tone. Then he assigned homework with a flourish.

“For homework, write a reflection on my heroic defeat of the Yeti,” Lockhart announced. “The best piece of work will receive a signed copy of Magical Me.”

And with that, he dismissed them and returned to the office next door.

He spent several minutes gazing into the mirror, adjusting his hair, collar, and cuffs from every angle. He practised his signature smile a few times, then nodded in satisfaction.

“Another perfect lesson.”

Lockhart didn’t notice that a perfectly ordinary robin had appeared atop the wardrobe at some point. Its glossy black eyes held a painfully human sort of disbelief.

So he’s even more obsessed with himself in private. Leonardo, transformed into a robin, thought sourly, nearly bored stiff from the wait.

Only after Lockhart brewed himself a cup of black tea did he sit at his desk and pull a faded diary from a locked drawer.

The instant the diary appeared, a sharp glint flashed in the robin’s eyes.

Lockhart took up an enormous peacock-feather quill and began writing, pausing and continuing in fits. He muttered to himself as he went.

“So there’s a Chamber of Secrets in the school, with a monster inside…”
“Oh, so the monster can be controlled…”
“Exactly. Control the monster, create an incident, spread panic, and then Lockhart will arrive as the hero to drive it away!”
“Yes, yes. A real adventure, witnessed by all. Saving a group of young witches and wizards, saving the future of the wizarding world. Oh, this might even earn me another Order of Merlin. Third Class is far too low…”

Perched silently above the wardrobe, the robin listened to Lockhart’s plan without making a sound.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 442

Chapter 442: Breaking into Gringotts, Betrayal

“Madam Lestrange.”

In Diagon Alley, a passing Snatcher nodded at Hermione, who was disguised as Bellatrix.

“Good morning,” Hermione replied, trying to sound casual. She came out stiff anyway.

The Snatcher paused, frowned like something felt off, then clicked his tongue and walked away.

“Good morning,” Griphook muttered under his breath, then gave Hermione a sharp kick.

“Hey, don’t get so worked up,” Harry cut in, stopping him.

“She nearly got us killed,” Griphook hissed, anger and warning tangled together. “Stop thinking like some school kid when you’re dealing with Death Eaters, or we’ll end up using that sword on ourselves!”

Harry hoisted Griphook up and pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself. The four of them slipped into Gringotts together.

The bank’s marble hall was as grand as ever. Tall counters lined both sides, unchanged for decades, with goblins handling business behind them.

But things were different now.

People from various oversight offices patrolled between the counters, occasionally stopping to flip through goblin account books. If anything looked wrong, they could arrest the goblins on the spot and haul them off to face the Wizengamot.

When Voldemort seized control of Britain, he tried to enslave the goblins. They resisted, but with these “regulators” in place, he didn’t bother wiping them out. Instead, he used constant pressure to force compliance.

Hermione strode into the centre of the hall and up to the main counter. She cleared her throat.

“I’m here for my vault.”

The goblin in front of her pushed his spectacles up his nose, then turned and went to fetch the manager, Bogrod.

“They know she’s a fake. We’re finished,” Griphook murmured.

Ron saw security moving closer behind them. His right hand slid into his pocket, fingers tightening around his wand.

A moment later, the goblin returned with Bogrod. Bogrod offered Hermione a polite, almost apologetic smile.

“Madam Lestrange, may we see your wand?”

“Why should I show it to you?” Hermione lifted her chin and pouted, forcing herself to act offended.

“It’s bank policy,” Bogrod said, his smile deepening. “You know how tense things are right now.”

“I don’t care how tense things are,” Hermione snapped, but the force was not there. She could not summon Bellatrix’s manic edge.

“In that case, I’m afraid…” Bogrod began.

A wand thrust out from the right and struck first.

“Imperio.”

“Please come with me,” Bogrod said blankly, his tone suddenly flat, his words the exact opposite of what he meant.

The goblin beside him shot Bogrod a strange look, but Bogrod was the manager. He said nothing.

Seeing Bogrod agree to escort them, the approaching guards slowed and backed off.

The group boarded a mine cart and plunged down into the depths.

Along the way, they were drenched by the waterfall at the top of the track.

Then the cart tipped sharply mid-run, and all of them were dumped straight down into the bottom of the vault.

“Arresto Momentum!” Hermione cast in time, catching them in mid-air just before they would have hit the ground hard enough to become a smear.

They scrambled upright. Hermione and Ron were already reverting, their features shifting back into their original faces.

“You changed back?” Harry asked.

“That was the Thief’s Downfall,” Griphook said. “It washes away all magic.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Ron snapped, glaring at him.

Bogrod came to as well. He stared at the unfamiliar faces in front of him.

“You? You’re thieves. And you, Griphook. You’ve been sacked, you traitorous little—”

Ron did not let him finish.

“Imperio.”

Bogrod’s eyes went blank again.

A deep roar rolled up behind them.

They stepped forward, and outside the vault, a pale dragon lay sprawled across the floor.

“Brilliant. A Ukrainian Ironbelly,” Ron muttered, flattening himself against the wall.

Griphook grabbed two metal clappers from a nearby crate and shook them. The dull, pounding rattle echoed again and again, and the dragon recoiled, uneasy and afraid.

“Why does that work?” Hermione asked.

“It’s been trained,” Griphook said casually. “Noise means punishment.”

Then he waved them on. “Move.”

They crossed the chamber guarded by the dragon and reached a row of vault doors.

Griphook seized Bogrod’s hand and pressed it to the control plate.

Click.

The magic recognized the authorized signature. The mechanisms on the vault door began to retract.

The entire metal door sprang open, sliding into the frame.

“There’s a suction charm on it,” Griphook said with a nasty grin, as if warning intruders. It would have been convincing if he weren’t one of them. “If the wrong person triggers it, they get sucked in and jammed into the compartments inside. By the way, we only clear those compartments once every ten years.”

They entered.

The vault was packed with gold and jewels. The three wizards raised their wands and cast Lumos. In the dim light, the gold shone with an unmatched glow.

None of them cared.

“Harry, can you sense a Horcrux?” Ron asked.

“Accio Horcrux,” Hermione tried instinctively.

“It won’t work,” Harry said quickly, stopping her. “Horcruxes are immune to Summoning Charms.”

Then Harry closed his eyes and let his magic spread out, using it like fingertips to brush across the treasures around him.

Before long, he heard it.

A golden cup perched high above, whispering.

“There!” Harry pointed at a goblet on a ledge against the wall.

Hermione looked up and accidentally knocked a golden bowl off a pile. It hit the ground and began to tremble.

Then it split into two.

The shaking did not stop.

“These treasures are cursed to multiply,” Griphook warned.

But Harry was already diving forward.

The instant he touched the hoard, the gold began to replicate violently. More and more bricks and bowls surged up, lifting Harry off his feet.

At the critical moment, he drove the Sword of Gryffindor forward, hooking the cup by its handle, then yanked it back and got it into his grasp.

After that, the three of them swam through a sea of multiplying gold, fighting their way towards the door.

Griphook lunged, snatched the cup out of Harry’s hand, and hissed, “Give me the Sword of Gryffindor!”

Harry shot him a furious look, then threw the sword.

Griphook caught it, admired it for a heartbeat, then casually tossed the cup back to Hermione.

“I said I’d get you in,” Griphook said, his smile sharp and twisted enough to chill the blood. “I never said I’d get you out.”

He slapped Bogrod’s hand back onto the control plate.

The door began to close.

“Sectumsempra!”

Golden power erupted from Harry. The closing door was sliced apart as if it were parchment. Harry burst through with Hermione and Ron at his heels.

Griphook had already taken the clappers and triggered the alarm. Gringotts security wizards were rushing in. From far down the corridor, curses flew towards the trio.

“Relax,” Ron said, ducking behind a stone pillar as spells cracked past. “At least we’ve still got Bogrod, right?”

Below them, Bogrod, trapped by the Imperius Curse, had wandered right to the dragon’s mouth.

The Ironbelly opened wide and swallowed him in one bite.

Harry and Hermione turned to stare at Ron, both wearing the same exhausted, helpless look.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 472

Chapter 472: Urging

The sun sank beyond the horizon, and a round full moon slowly climbed into the sky.

Sean stood by the window and glanced outside, then turned to Snape in the laboratory.

“Professor, the full moon is about to rise. Let’s get ready.”

Snape nodded, turned towards Lupin, who was wearing only trousers, and flicked his wand. Tough restraint straps shot out from the bench behind them, wrapped around Lupin’s body, and yanked him onto the examination table, pinning him down. The force was so strong it drew a sharp cry of pain from Lupin.

“Oh, Severus, perhaps you could be a little gentler…”

Snape shot him a look and gave his wand a light twitch. The strap around Lupin’s neck tightened suddenly, strangling the rest of his sentence back down his throat.

Sean lifted a hand, and the strap at Lupin’s neck loosened slightly. Then Sean gestured again. The table slid to the window and tipped upright, positioning Lupin so he would see the full moon the instant it appeared.

“Sean, your wandless magic is getting more and more proficient,” Lupin said.

While preparing the injection, Sean answered, “Only for simple spells. Wandless casting will always be weaker than casting with a wand. That cannot be avoided.”

“Wandless magic has its limits, but I still think you should work harder on nonverbal casting. Do you thi…”

He did not finish.

A strand of moonlight spilled in from the full moon now risen into the sky. It passed through the window and fell into Lupin’s eyes, instantly triggering the werewolf virus inside him.

“Uh… ah…”

A low growl tore from his throat. Black fur erupted across his skin, and his face warped, stretching into a savage muzzle.

In the blink of an eye, Lupin completed the transformation. He thrashed against the restraints, trying to tear free, but these straps had been crafted by Sean through alchemy. No matter how he howled and struggled, he could not break them.

Staring at the werewolf snarling at him, Sean immediately said, “Professor, time it.”

Snape did not answer. He began timing at once.

At the same moment, Sean drove the needle into Lupin’s neck and pushed the potion in completely.

The potion was brutally forceful. The instant it entered Lupin’s body, his neck began to revert first, skin and shape snapping back into a human wizard’s form, and the change spread rapidly across him.

When the last traces of lycanthropy peeled away, Lupin stared at his own body in disbelief, then at the full moon outside the window. He did not know how long it had been since he had truly looked at a full moon, and he had almost forgotten what it felt like to face it with a human mind. Even agreeing to Sean’s experiment, he had never dared hope for anything like this.

Now he had his sanity, his human body, and the full moon shining right in front of him. A raw, honest shock rose from somewhere deep in his chest, turning into something so overwhelming it brought tears to his eyes. They slid silently down his cheeks.

“So this is the full moon…”

Sean snapped his fingers, and the restraints loosened.

Lupin stepped down from the table and turned to Sean. “The potion’s effect has not been confirmed yet. Isn’t it dangerous to release me?”

“With me here, it won’t be dangerous,” Sean said.

Lupin smiled faintly and nodded. “True. With you here, there really isn’t much to fear.”

He turned back to the window and looked up at the moon as it climbed higher, as if he could never get enough of it.

Minute by minute, time passed. A little over ten minutes later, Lupin let out a muffled grunt and hunched forward. The hands gripping the windowsill suddenly sprouted black fur and claws. Like the potion’s effect playing in reverse, his body rapidly returned to a werewolf’s shape.

“Se-Sean, quick, quick…”

He did not finish.

Sean stepped in and grabbed Lupin by the throat, pinning him back against the upright table. The straps on the table whipped out again and bound Lupin tight once more.

Holding the fully transformed Lupin’s jaws shut, Sean produced a bottle of Wolfsbane Potion and poured it into his mouth. Within moments, Lupin’s struggle faded and he fell into a heavy sleep.

Sean lowered the table back down and left Lupin there sleeping. He then walked over to Snape.

“Professor, how long?”

“Eleven minutes and twenty-three seconds,” Snape replied. “Within expectations.”

“Then our data is basically enough, right?”

Snape nodded. “For a stage paper, it’s enough. If you want to truly complete this potion, one Lupin is not enough.”

“Don’t worry, Professor. I’ve already thought about that,” Sean said. “Once I publish this stage paper, more werewolves will naturally become interested in my work. When that happens, finding more willing test subjects won’t be difficult.”

Lupin had already been cooperating with Sean’s experiments at Hogwarts for more than twenty days. This full-transformation trial was essentially the final test. The current stage of potion development was completely concluded, and this stage could be considered a success.

In fact, purely as a potion, Sean’s work was already a viable product. A potion that allowed a werewolf to sire a normal child within a limited time, even if currently restricted to male werewolves, was already astonishing. On top of that, it could forcibly restore a werewolf to human form for a short window, which would be a decisive weapon for the Ministry of Magic in dealing with werewolf unrest.

So Sean planned to make the invention and production of this potion his first official order after he became Minister for Magic.

As for publishing the paper, that could begin immediately.

“Professor, I’ll go write the paper. Leaving Professor Lupin here is fine, right?”

“I will stay here and watch him,” Snape said.

“Good. Thank you, Professor.”

“Go. And remember, once you’ve finished writing it, bring it to me first.”

“Of course, Professor.”

Snape watched Sean hurry out. He picked up a book and sat down in the laboratory chair.

But he did not open it straight away. Instead, he reached up and pressed a hand against the Dark Mark on his right arm.

The burning sensation was getting worse and worse. That meant Voldemort was urging him to act, and quickly.

Kill Sean.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 186

Chapter 185: The Marauder’s Map

Outside the Ravenclaw common room.

Fred and George talked over each other as they excitedly reported their “battle results” from the past few days. They were so animated, gesturing and hopping about, that passing students could not help staring.

After all, The Seventh Workshop had only been open for a few days, and its profits already exceeded the twins’ combined pocket money from years of scraping and saving.

Once they calculated their cut and the agreed payment, Fred and George could practically see it. After graduation, opening a joke shop would no longer be a fantasy.

The Weasleys were short on money, and the twins had never even considered asking their family to fund them. They had always planned to save up on their own, however long it took.

After listening to them, Leonardo’s expression turned a bit strange.

“So the first customer for a custom map was Malfoy?”

“Yep,” Fred said cheerfully. “You told us to emphasise how special and prestigious custom work is to the rich pure-bloods. Malfoy’s kid just happened to be the first one along.”

George jumped in, smug as anything. “We were quick on our feet. Made up a reason on the spot and hooked him immediately. Got to admit, the script works. We’ll use the same routine to wind up the Slytherins from now on.”

“And the Malfoys might be annoying,” Fred added, “but they really are loaded. Fifty Galleons, just like that.”

He grinned. “I told him we’d rush his order first, guaranteed he’d be the first Slytherin, no, the first in the whole school, to have a custom map. He actually believed it.”

Leonardo rubbed his temples. He had not expected their first big cut to be made on someone they already knew. Malfoy, honestly.

Still, considering Draco’s personality, once he saw other pure-bloods ordering custom versions, he’d definitely keep up. He would never accept falling behind.

That was pure-bloods for you. They didn’t just want the best—they wanted the rarest. Draco was practically born to collect limited editions.

The whole point was standing apart. If you used the standard version, how were you supposed to prove you were special?

“All right,” Leonardo said. “What did Malfoy ask for? Family crest, personal seal?”

George pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over.

“It’s all written down.”

Leonardo unfolded it. Even though he had expected something like this, he still could not hold back his smile. It read:

Engrave the Malfoy family crest: (see attached drawing). Engrave the Slytherin crest: (see attached drawing). Exclusive to Draco Malfoy. VIP Map No. 1.

Yes. Entirely Malfoy.

Leonardo tucked the parchment away. “Understood. I’ll make his first. If you’re free this weekend, want to come learn the basic compass and map crafting?”

The twins still did not know how to make the devices themselves. Custom maps were even more complex, and only Leonardo could produce them at the moment.

Custom work was mostly about selling uniqueness, but it also used better materials and offered more complete functions.

“Oh, and this is for you,” Leonardo added. “I’ve more or less finished analysing it.”

Since no one was passing by, he handed them a blank piece of parchment.

Fred tapped it with his wand and spoke clearly.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink lines immediately surfaced and began to spread, sketching themselves in seconds into a detailed map of Hogwarts.

The Marauder’s Map.

It had been created by the Marauders, including Harry’s father, back in their school days.

It was an astonishing piece of magic. It could show the position of everyone in Hogwarts and reveal how to open hidden passages.

From the map, Leonardo could also tell how brilliant the four of them had been. The way the enchantments were fixed and maintained, and the way spellwork was combined with alchemy, was exceptional for their age.

James and Sirius came from pure-blood families, well-informed and naturally gifted.

Lupin was steady and capable, a true expert in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and highly knowledgeable about Dark creatures.

As for Peter Pettigrew… well, he was an Animagus.

In fact, it was precisely because they were Animagi, especially Peter, who could turn into a rat, that they had been able to explore every inch of Hogwarts and uncover so many secret routes.

Before designing the compass and map products, Leonardo had mentioned his ideas to the twins and admitted he still did not know Hogwarts’ layout well enough.

And, exactly as he had expected, the twins had produced the Marauder’s Map like it was a priceless treasure.

With the Marauder’s Map as a reference, Leonardo had saved himself a great deal of work and finished the compass and map items before the term began.

After analysing it these past days, he now understood how the Marauder’s Map worked.

Fred tucked the parchment away and chuckled.

“We nicked it from Filch’s drawer. A treasure like that, just sitting under dust.”

George spread his hands. “What else would happen? Filch can’t use magic, can he? Oh, and speaking of that, I saw something in there too. A Quickspell course brochure.”

He lowered his voice.

“Filch is probably a Squib. Leonardo, do you know what that means?”

Leonardo nodded. A Squib was someone born into a wizarding family who could not use magic.

It sounded like the reverse of a Muggle-born wizard, but Squibs were far rarer.

Worse, they could sense things Muggles could not. They could feel the wonder of magic, stand right beside it, and still never touch it.

That was far crueller than being a Muggle. They had seen something beautiful and could never have it.

Most Squibs lived quiet, powerless lives, often poor and overlooked.

Leonardo had once examined Filch with his Magic Sight and found something that surprised him. Filch did have magical circuits and a trace of magic, thin but real.

But many nodes in those circuits were blocked, or so narrow that magic could barely flow. The magic was consumed inside his own system long before it could resonate with a wand.

Leonardo had even considered inventing a special alchemical device, something that could draw out a Squib’s internal magic and release it as spell effects, though it would have to be simple, closer to parlour tricks than real combat magic.

The problem was the market. The target customers were too few, and most would not have much money to spend.

Squibs were rare, and even fewer had stable jobs like Filch.

Doing it would be closer to charity than business.

After chatting a bit more, Leonardo returned to his dormitory and kept working.

…

Breakfast.

In the Great Hall, Ron poured out his misery.

“Leonardo, you lot haven’t had Lockhart for Defence Against the Dark Arts yet, right? If you haven’t, don’t get your hopes up. I swear he’s even worse than Quirrell.”

“At least last year’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons didn’t involve a swarm of Cornish pixies biting my robes. I even saw Lockhart’s wand get nicked by one of them. Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it?”

Harry, clearly traumatised by the position at this point, swallowed his pumpkin porridge and nodded along.

“His stories are interesting, sure, but he himself is just…”

He grimaced. “In the end, it was still the three of us who caught the pixies. If we didn’t know the spells you taught us, Leonardo, it would’ve been a nightmare.”

Hermione looked as if she wanted to argue that perhaps Lockhart had meant it as practical experience, but Leonardo only smiled.

“So, you want a different Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?”

It might be time to start keeping an eye on how Lockhart and Tom Riddle’s diary were progressing.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 441

Chapter 441: The Warrior’s Revenge Returns Home, New Horcrux News

By the Nile, Edmond rubbed the ring on his finger, the one engraved with his family crest. A black-covered book floated up beside him, and a translucent shadow rose from its pages.

“Are you ready?” Aiden asked.

“Of course.” Edmond smiled. “A full million converted wizards.”

Aiden recited an ancient verse, his tone light, almost sing-song.

“A son cruelly banished,
Despair of the daughter,
Return, great avenger,
With wings from the water.”

“Tycho Dodonus… I can’t believe anyone still remembers,” Edmond said, a little wistful.

“Of course I remember. During the Second World War, I watched that prophecy nearly come true,” Aiden said with a shrug. “Shame the Lestranges didn’t have a boy back then.”

“But we don’t have a daughter now either,” Edmond said blankly.

“My dear young Master Lestrange,” Aiden said, strolling over and hooking an arm around Edmond’s shoulder, his delicate face splitting into an exaggerated, ridiculous grin. “You don’t seriously think a prophecy has to be that strict to activate, do you?”

“Couldn’t some writer give it a gentle push? You know, rewrite what counts, turn someone who married out but still carries the surname into the ‘daughter’, that sort of thing?”

“That’s impressive,” Edmond said, glancing sideways at him. “That’s practically no different from a god.”

“Low profile, low profile.” Aiden fluttered his left hand. “Right, one more thing. Once you set out, travel by water. I suggest landing through France.”

“Got it. Now get lost.” Edmond yanked the book over and snapped it shut.

“Hey, wai…” Aiden’s complaint cut off mid-syllable as the projection vanished.

“By water, then.” Edmond looked at the wizards, busy readying weapons and supplies, and his gaze hardened. He strode forward.

…

In Britain, at the Order of the Phoenix’s new secret safe house, Dobby delivered Harry and the others as Aberforth had instructed.

Aberforth simply couldn’t stand his brother treating the Hog’s Head like a guesthouse. Due to his strong objections, Dumbledore found a different, hidden location to house the Order.

“Bill?” Harry blurted the moment he saw the man who came out to meet them.

“Come on,” Bill said, pulling them inside. “We’ll talk in there.”

“Harry!” Sirius, who had arrived earlier, stepped in and hugged him.

“I’m fine,” Harry said quickly, reassuring his godfather.

Behind them, Bill quietly complained to Ethan that over the last few hours, Sirius had been fretting like an old aunty, talking nonstop until Bill and Fleur had been forced to hide outside just to get a moment’s peace. That was why Harry had seen Bill first the moment he arrived.

“Anyway, go upstairs,” Bill said, patting Harry’s shoulder. “The goblin and Ollivander both seem to want a word with you.”

In an upstairs room, Ollivander and Griphook sat in opposite corners. Neither seemed to mind. Compared to a dungeon, this was practically a luxury.

“Mr Ollivander,” Harry said first.

“Mr Potter…” Ollivander’s face was drawn and miserable. “I’m very sorry. I couldn’t keep the secret. The Dark Lord’s power was too great.”

“What do you mean?” Harry did not understand the implication.

“He is searching for one of the Deathly Hallows, the Elder Wand,” Ollivander said. “I thought you knew, Lord of Resentment.”

He looked at Harry, and something in that flat, distant gaze made Harry’s skin prickle with fear.

“Sorry,” Ollivander added, as if catching himself. “When it comes to wands, I sometimes lose control of myself.”

He looked past Hermione and Ron, who had shifted in front of Harry protectively.

“I’m all right,” Harry said, patting their backs. He edged between them and sat on the bed.

“He stole my memories,” Ollivander said, covering his face, his voice hoarse. “During the Triwizard Tournament, I saw Dumbledore cast with that wand.”

“This isn’t your fault,” Harry said.

“But you must be careful,” Ollivander warned, forcing the words out. “If he obtains the Elder Wand… your chances of winning will be very low.”

Harry nodded, then turned and went to Griphook.

“And you? What did you want to say?”

“I heard you’re searching for Voldemort’s treasures,” Griphook said, smiling. Now that he had escaped danger, his hunger for wealth returned immediately.

“You know what she hid?” Harry seized him by the shoulders, unable to stop himself.

“Gently, Mr Potter.” Griphook smacked Harry’s hand away.

“They stored a golden cup in the Lestrange family vault at Gringotts,” Griphook said. “Along with the Sword of Gryffindor.”

“That sword’s a fake. I know,” Harry said, repeating what he had overheard before.

Griphook’s eyes widened slightly.

“I need to get into that vault,” Harry said, staring him down.

“That’s impossible,” Griphook said flatly.

“Not alone,” Harry replied, lips tightening. “But with you, it becomes possible.”

“And why would I help you, Mr Potter?” Griphook asked, wearing a goblin’s trademark smile.

“I have gold. A lot of gold,” Harry said without hesitation. The Potter fortune felt meaningless to him at this moment. He could give it away as easily as breathing.

“I’m not interested,” Griphook said, folding his arms. “And goblin gold? We can make that whenever we please.”

“Then what do you want?” Harry demanded.

Griphook did not answer. He only lifted a finger and pointed at the sword on Ron’s back.

“Fine,” Harry said at once. “Deal.”

The three of them left the room. At the corner of the corridor, Hermione and Ron stopped Harry.

“Have you lost your mind?” Ron hissed. “If you hand him the sword, how are we supposed to destroy Horcruxes?”

“Aiden destroyed Horcruxes too,” Harry said, blinking at them. “And he’s not a Gryffindor, and he never had that sword. So there has to be another way.”

Then, beyond the window behind him, a gigantic basilisk lifted its head and gave the three of them a slow wink.

“Merlin, don’t look it in the eye!” Ron yelped, clapping his hands over his head and dropping into a crouch.

“It’s not cursing us,” Hermione said, half-laughing as she nudged him. “Could you not be so cowardly, Ronnie?”

“Did Aiden send you to help us?” Harry pushed the window open and patted the basilisk gently on the snout.

The basilisk backed away a little, then shook its head hard, up and down.

“Great!” Harry said, punching the air once.

“How did you know it was safe?” Ron still sounded shaken, refusing to open his eyes. “I thought it was going to kill us.”

“Just a feeling.” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know why, but I feel like all dragon-serpents can be trusted.”

With the plan set, the trio began disguising themselves. Griphook provided them with a Death Eater’s hair and Bellatrix’s hair.

Hermione dressed in gleaming black leather, painted her nails black, and deliberately messed her hair into a wild tangle.

Ron pulled on a black coat, strapped on boots, and flipped his collar up sharply.

They drank the Polyjuice Potion.

Then, in a crack of Apparition, the two of them vanished.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 471

Chapter 471: Test Subject No. 1, Remus Lupin

The smile on Sean’s face slowly faded.

Snape looked at him and tried to pull his hand back, but with Sean’s strength, if Sean did not want to let go, Snape simply could not take it back.

“Sean. Let go.”

“Professor, what is this? Was it Voldemort?”

“Let go!”

This time, Sean did not obey like he usually would. He drew his wand and touched the centipede-black scar on Snape’s arm. With a brief probe, he could tell it had been inflicted by an exceptionally troublesome piece of Dark magic. Clearly, Voldemort was deeply displeased with Snape.

A thread of emerald light shot from Sean’s wand. Like needle and thread, it stitched an intricate life alchemy array across Snape’s arm.

Sean’s mastery of life alchemy had advanced to the point where, even without materials, he could temporarily substitute his own magic as an energy source. It was far weaker than a proper life alchemy procedure, but it was vastly more convenient.

Waves of vitality seeped out from the array. The Dark magic within the scar was driven out at a pace visible to the naked eye, and the wound began to fade and mend rapidly.

Only when the black, centipede-like mark had lightened into a faint trace did Sean finally release Snape’s hand.

Snape looked down at the pale scar left behind, then lifted his head to Sean. There was a flicker of approval in his eyes, but his mouth still dripped venom.

“So our future Minister for Magic truly carries the dignity of the Ministry’s foremost wizard. Imagine, a mere Hogwarts professor like me dared to tell you to let go. How terribly offensive.”

Hearing the sarcasm, Sean chuckled, completely unbothered, and switched topics without hesitation.

“Professor, what did you think of that essay I wrote before?”

Snape stared at him. He had only been mocking Sean out of habit, not because he genuinely felt slighted, so he answered plainly.

“At your current level, you will not make any basic mistakes in an essay. The issue lies in your experimental data. In my view, your experiments still lack real-world evidence. At minimum, you need to prove this potion can, in fact, suppress the werewolf virus for a short period. That means you need a werewolf to cooperate with your experiment, and you must record the relevant data and case evidence. Only then will your paper be convincing.”

“A test subject…” Sean thought for a moment, then looked at Snape and asked in a low voice, “Professor, what do you think about using Professor Lupin as the test subject?”

“Hmm…”

At the name, Snape’s eyebrow lifted by a fraction.

Dragging that Lupin fellow in as a test subject…

It seemed…

Not impossible.

In Dumbledore’s office, Sean looked across the desk at Dumbledore.

“Professor, I’m pretty sure I mentioned this before. You didn’t forget, did you?”

“Oh, Sean, you really cannot blame me. Soon after that, the matter at the Ministry happened. The Order of the Phoenix has been busy, and Remus is one of its key members. I simply did not have the time to discuss it with him.”

“Then please contact him about it now,” Sean said.

“Of course. I will do so at once,” Dumbledore replied. “That said, how far has your experiment progressed? Is it convenient to tell me?”

The paper was meant to be published anyway, so there was no reason to hide anything.

Sean answered immediately. “I have already developed a potion that can suppress the werewolf virus. In human form, it can push the virus down to an extremely low level for roughly a day. Under those conditions, any child conceived will not inherit the virus. The baby will be born healthy and normal.

“In werewolf form, it can forcibly restore the subject to human form for about ten minutes, but the problem is that in that state, the virus becomes extremely active. With the potion as it currently stands, it can only hold for about ten minutes.

“If the target is a powerful werewolf like Fenrir, the duration may drop below ten minutes. Of course, that is only theory, which is why I need Professor Lupin’s cooperation.”

“Even just that is a world-shaking discovery and piece of research,” Dumbledore said, smiling at Sean. “And perhaps it can help us solve the problem of werewolves joining Voldemort. At the very least, it might help us win over those werewolves who only turned to him because wizardkind left them no other choice.”

“That part is for you to handle, Professor,” Sean said. “I will handle the research.”

“Agreed. Then it is settled. As for Remus, I will have him come to Hogwarts before tonight’s dinner to assist your work.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

With Dumbledore back, and the Ministry now fully cooperating with Sean, the laboratory that had been stalled for so long was finally approved. It was built and equipped entirely according to Sean’s requirements, burning through quite a bit of the Ministry’s teaching budget allocated to Hogwarts.

Lupin arrived at Hogwarts before dinner. He even ate at the Gryffindor table.

During the meal, Harry and the others asked whether Lupin had come to Hogwarts on a secret mission. Lupin told them he was here to assist Sean with the development and research of a new potion, but he did not tell them that his “assistance” meant being studied.

The innermost laboratory on the third floor.

It was directly opposite Sean’s alchemy classroom. It had once been an empty classroom, but Sean had claimed it for himself.

Lupin stood outside the lab as Sean led him in. The moment they entered, Lupin saw Snape inside, preparing various instruments.

Watching Snape handle tools like pliers, a small saw, chisels, and even a hammer, Lupin’s steps slowed. He swallowed, then asked hesitantly, “Sean… those things are not part of the experiment, are they?”

“Of course not,” Sean said. “Those are just tools I use to make small modifications to the laboratory. They will not be used in the experiment, Professor Lupin. You can relax. I will absolutely not let Professor Snape take personal revenge during the experiment and use those on you. Absolutely not!”

Lupin looked at the earnest smile on Sean’s face. For some reason, a chill ran through him.

Maybe I should go to Dumbledore and tell him I regret this now.

But it’s probably already too late, isn’t it?

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 184

Chapter 184: Healing the Whomping Willow

Leonardo followed Professor Sprout to the Whomping Willow.

The towering tree looked wilted now, its branches drooping without strength, none of its usual swagger left. The gaping crater in the trunk made Leonardo click his tongue. That impact had been brutal. Another little bit, and it would have snapped clean through.

“The Whomping Willow is injured and weak,” Professor Sprout said, her voice tight with regret as she stared at it. “But that makes it more irritable and more dangerous. The slightest disturbance, and it goes into a frenzy, striking blindly at anything nearby. That makes treatment and recovery much harder.”

She sighed, clearly pained by the whole situation.

“Normally, you can press a knot on one of its branches and it will freeze at once. But it won’t respond now.”

She paused, then grimaced.

“As for Lockhart’s method… forget it. Don’t even mention it.”

Leonardo grasped the issue at once. The Whomping Willow needed rest—quiet and stillness, something close to sleep. But weakened as it was, the tree had tipped into rage, and every time it struck out, it only worsened its own wounds, undoing whatever healing had begun.

Dumbledore was likely counting on unicorn saliva to replenish life force first, to stabilise the tree’s vitality, and only then start real healing once it could endure it.

Still, if the Whomping Willow could be calmed first, they would be treating the cause and the symptoms at once.

Calm. Sleep.

Leonardo pulled a pair of special earplugs from his pocket and offered them to Professor Sprout.

“Professor, please put these on first. I want to try making the Whomping Willow settle down. It will be easier to treat it properly.”

Professor Sprout looked puzzled. During the Herbology lesson, she had been checking other groups and had not noticed anything unusual about Leonardo’s. Even so, she put the earplugs in.

At the very least, she thought dryly, it could not be more ridiculous than Lockhart.

Leonardo raised his wand. His lips moved, and instead of a clipped incantation, a distant, drifting melody flowed out of him, soft as fog.

“Moonlight, velvet-soft, beneath your head,
Night draws deep and hides your dread.
Let your breathing sink to Silver Lake,
Let sweet dreams along moonbeams wake…”

The Whomping Willow’s trembling branches gradually stilled. Its leaves stopped quivering, as if the whole tree had been lowered gently into sleep.

Leonardo watched with his Magic Sight until the tree’s internal magic settled into something smooth and quiet. Only then did he step forward.

He had no intention of gambling on whether his “Diligent Little Gardener” affinity would work on a Whomping Willow in a true rage. Better to make it sleep first.

A plant sleeping might have sounded absurd.

Magic had never cared about the absurd.

The Moon-Sleep Song, at least, was doing its job.

Professor Sprout, seeing Leonardo walk into the Whomping Willow’s range, instinctively reached out as if to yank him back. But the tree did not react at all. That oppressive, violent restlessness was simply gone.

With her deep familiarity with magical plants, Professor Sprout confirmed it quickly. The Whomping Willow had entered a strangely quiet, steady state.

It was almost as if it really was asleep.

With the earplugs in, she could not hear what Leonardo had said or sung. She could only tell he had cast something. And she had never seen an incantation that long.

Leonardo reached the base of the tree and laid a hand on the jagged break in its trunk, offering a silent apology.

Then he took out a small vial and tipped a few drops of unicorn saliva onto the roots.

Almost immediately, the bark’s dull, withered look began to fade. Vitality returned, subtle but unmistakable.

Professor Sprout began her work as well. She applied a specialised restorative solution along the edges of the wound, then wrapped and secured the damaged area with bandages.

Leonardo could not help thinking, so bandages actually do work.

While Sprout treated the trunk, Leonardo collected the scattered debris on the ground: snapped branches, fallen leaves, torn strips of bark.

These materials could be used for potions or incorporated into alchemical items to produce more unusual effects.

But what Leonardo needed most was for a spell he intended to build.

It was an ancient piece of magic he had learned from an old spellbook.

Bastion of Knowledge.

Its effect resembled Occlumency. It resisted mental intrusion and shielded the soul.

Beyond Legilimency, it could also defend against soul- and memory-targeting magic such as the Imperius Curse and Memory Charms, covering far more angles overall.

As for the principles, it used the caster’s own knowledge as a foundation, combining alchemy and spellwork to create a semi-permanent defence. In a way, it resembled the modifications behind Magic Sight, only without needing any physical alteration.

What Leonardo liked most about it was simple.

The more knowledge you possessed, the stronger the protection became.

Compared with Occlumency, it suited him perfectly.

When Leonardo finished gathering branches, leaves, and bark, Professor Sprout was done as well.

Seeing that, Leonardo returned to the Whomping Willow with a bag, poured out fertiliser at its base, and helped speed its recovery.

Professor Sprout’s eyes sharpened instantly.

“This fertiliser is excellent quality,” she said, unable to hide her interest. “Leonardo, where did you buy it?”

As the Herbology professor and a true gardening enthusiast, she could not resist a good fertiliser.

…

In the Great Hall, the twins had made a spectacular show of setting up their Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Special) stall, and their shouting quickly drew attention.

Some students drifted over at once. After being tormented by the moving staircases and then comparing themselves to Gryffindors who had bought the compass or map, the gap in experience hit hard.

No elaborate promotion was even needed. They had already learned where the items came from.

Draco Malfoy happened to stroll by with his two cronies. He paused to examine the goods laid out on the stall.

When he heard the inventions were Leonardo’s, his interest rose, and he quickly understood the function. The map that could plot routes was genuinely useful, and as for the price, it was irrelevant. Malfoy did not lack money.

He had Goyle ask the price and was just about to pay, partly to show support for Leonardo.

Then he heard the twins “chatting” to each other, far too loudly to be accidental.

“George, our custom map is nearly finished, isn’t it? Zabini pre-ordered it.”

"Right, right. Rich pure‑bloods always go for custom work. Put the family crest on it, or a personal seal. One of a kind. That's the proper noble standard, isn't it?"

“And if this is the first custom map, it’ll make everyone jealous.”

Malfoy’s hand froze halfway to his money pouch.

Custom. One of a kind.

Of course.

Buying the same thing everyone else bought, even the most expensive version, suddenly felt pointless.

Catching Malfoy’s expression, the twins exchanged a quick glance.

A matching grin flickered across two identical faces—gone as fast as it came.

HP/LOTM: Visionary - 44

Chapter 440: A Head-On Encounter, The Writer Arrives​

The instant they heard the noise, Harry and Ethan slipped behind a pillar together. A heartbeat later, the dungeon door swung open, and a witch swept in, dressed head to toe in black, yet dripping with jewels.

It was Bellatrix Lestrange.

Since getting her hands on the Daily Prophet, she had taken control of the entire Lestrange fortune and was now living in luxury beyond anything she had ever known.

“You. Ollivander. Come here!” Bellatrix pointed her wand at Ollivander.

A spell yanked him up into the air, and he floated after her as she left.

With a vicious slam, the dungeon door crashed shut. Silence returned.

Only after they were sure no Death Eaters remained did Harry and Ethan step out from behind the pillar.

“They took Ollivander,” Harry said, looking at Ethan.

“First, we get the others out,” Ethan said, eyes flicking as his mind raced. “Then we go scout. If we can save him, we do. If we cannot, we come back, meet up with Dobby, and leave.”

“All right.” Harry nodded.

They signaled to Dobby, who hurried over, grabbed Luna and Griphook, and Disapparated with them.

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag. Ethan casually flicked his wand at the cell door with an Unlocking Charm, and the two of them slipped out.

Outside the dungeon was a small room, and its guard was the one Death Eater everyone tended to ignore—Peter Pettigrew.

The moment Harry saw his face, his fingers tightened around his wand, and the tip lifted almost on its own. Ethan reached out immediately and gently pressed Harry’s wand back down.

With Ethan’s touch, Harry forced his anger under control, then gave him a look that showed he was thinking clearly again.

Under the Invisibility Cloak, they searched Malfoy Manor, turning over the treasure vault and several bedrooms. But Harry did not sense a Horcrux anywhere. He shook his head at Ethan, frustration twisting in his stomach.

In the end, Harry laid his wand flat across his palm and used a pointing spell, forcing it to lead him to Bellatrix.

Following the wand’s pull, they reached an ornate, lavishly decorated door. Yet the magic leaking from behind it felt ominous, wrong enough that both of them went cold.

Bang!

The door was thrown open with brutal force.

At the head of the long meeting table lounged a lazy-looking woman, her scarlet snake-like pupils locked precisely on the spot where the two of them stood.

A wave of icy dread surged up Ethan’s spine. He did not bother hiding anymore. He grabbed Harry and bolted.

It was useless.

Malfoy Manor had already been altered by Tom. Chaos could pour out from any corner. In an instant, deep darkness wrapped around them, and the entire world was replaced by the Deep Realm.

Sky and earth blurred into formless confusion, and the only things that still held order and shape were a handful of people and the table and chairs before them.

“Good evening, Harry Potter.” Tom’s lips curved into an elegant smile.

Since hiding was pointless now, Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak off his head.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Harry met her gaze without flinching.

“What a rare delight,” Tom said, fingers interlaced as she leaned forward on the tabletop, unhurried and confident. “You actually came to me. You’ve destroyed quite a few of my Horcruxes lately.”

She did not even seem angry that he spoke her true name.

Tom had already shifted her goal. She no longer cared about that ridiculous obsession with blood purity. The only reason she still kept the slogan alive was to bind together the pure-blood faction under her command in Britain.

After all, they had been her first foundation.

And on the continent, Tom had long since changed the message to one simple truth: magic is power. As for the talented Muggle Dark wizards she recruited later, if the Dark Lord declared their blood pure, who dared question it?

Harry felt crushing pressure bearing down on him. Tom had fused far too deeply with Chaos, almost like its agent walking the human world.

“As long as you keep spreading slaughter, people will rise against you again and again,” Harry said, golden magic flooding his pupils. Behind him, a massive silver stag Patronus lifted its head. “Until your Horcruxes are destroyed and you’re forced to face an endless tide of challengers like a mortal!”

“Tch. So Dumbledore actually had the heart to give you the core of resentment,” Tom said, and a flash of envy cut through her eyes. “That’s a chance to become a god.”

In truth, she had once been one of those who craved Dumbledore’s acknowledgement. But now she believed only eternity was real. Even someone like Dumbledore could fall from the tower one day.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s because they don’t care that they’re favoured by the Protocols,” a clear, bell-like teenage voice said.

A moment later, a terrifying surge of magic punched straight through Tom’s Deep Realm domain.

The sealed black egg split open with a gap.

Ethan reacted instantly. He snatched Harry, then used Accio to yank Ollivander back to them, and ran.

Tom snapped her wand. The shattered Chaos field turned into writhing tendrils that lashed towards the three of them.

But a strange power descended.

It was as if a writer holding a book had quietly put pen to page and rewritten the tendrils’ aim. Every strike missed, all of them.

"Heh. Missed again," the boy’s voice said with a hint of amusement.

“Aiden Pruett!” Tom snarled, her voice dripping with venom. Hatred tore through her like fire, raw and unrelenting.

Black magic exploded, reducing the room’s decorations to dust.

“Don’t bully children,” Aiden’s voice came from all directions, though the room itself stayed empty. “If you want a fight, come to Avalon. I’ll play a couple of rounds with you.”

“Just you wait,” Tom hissed. “I’ll find your agent. Then I’ll kill them one by one!”

Her murderous gaze fixed on the empty air. She whipped out a vicious piece of dark magic, burning a transparent shadow in the void into ash.

The writer’s projected power was destroyed.

Far away in Avalon, a dragon curled as if it had just had a pleasant dream, the corner of its mouth lifting slightly.

Harry and Ethan carried Ollivander and fled all the way back to the dungeon. The violent shaking from above had already startled the guard awake.

Peter Pettigrew saw Harry sprinting towards him and flashed a greasy, pleased grin as he drew his wand and blocked their path.

He had no idea what he was about to face.

“Move!” they shouted together.

A gigantic silver stag slammed into Pettigrew, lifting him clean off the ground and smashing him into the stone ceiling. Cracks spread like a spiderweb across the rock behind him.

But it was not over.

Ethan’s Fiendfyre followed, forming a flaming eagle that dove and pecked viciously at Pettigrew. He barely had time to lift his right arm to shield himself.

The second impact drove him deeper into the ceiling, then punched him straight through it, blasting a hole as he shot up towards the sky.

Harry and Ethan did not waste a second on him. They rushed into the dungeon, where Dobby had been waiting.

“Dobby, now!” Harry said.

They grabbed Dobby’s hands and Disapparated.

HP: The Duelist of Hogwarts - 470

Chapter 470: Hogwarts Back on Track

Any family with deep roots would always prepare multiple paths for themselves.

For example, when a nation was in turmoil and new and old powers fought for dominance, many families would back different sides. At the very least, they would send one direct descendant to join each faction. Even if the family’s main branch lost, the branch that chose the winning side would at least preserve the family’s bloodline.

This was not an uncommon strategy. In Sean’s previous life, many families had made similar choices.

So it was no surprise to Sean that the Flint family had done the same.

“Sean, please rest assured,” Jennifer said. “My rivalry with Oliver is real, but my choice to stand with you is genuine.”

Sean nodded. He was not worried about that. In the current situation, as long as Jennifer had a working brain, she would know that her future lay in following him.

He turned to Marlow and Howard.

“Marlow, Howard, your task from now on is to gather as many of the dark wizard factions from Knockturn Alley, and indeed from the rest of the British wizarding world, as possible. If you need to, you may contact Delice to coordinate with Aurors.

“In addition, keep strict watch over foreign dark wizards. If you spot a large number entering Britain, notify me immediately. You are authorised to deal with them as you see fit—either by surrounding and killing them, by recruiting them, or by letting them enter and dealing with them later. The decision is yours.”

“As you command, Master.”

“I’ll follow your orders, Master~”

Sean rolled his eyes and ignored Marlow’s theatrics. Instead, he looked to Barrett and Jennifer.

“Barrett, Jennifer, are you both able to fully control what remains of the Slytherin Brotherhood?”

Barrett, his eyes shining with fanaticism, nodded at once.

“Master, we can completely control the remaining forces. When the Ministry purged those connected to the Dark Lord, I protected several wizards who had only minor ties to him or the Death Eaters. I used Veritaserum to confirm their loyalty. They now wish to serve under me and contribute their strength to your cause.”

Jennifer shot Barrett a glare. She had wanted to be the first to pledge her loyalty, but he had beaten her to it. After Barrett finished, she finally spoke.

“Sean, I’ve been in contact with several pure-blood families. These fence-sitters only gave slight support to Umbridge before. Now that the Ministry has set things right, they’ve come to me, asking for help and offering their full support.”

“Full support is nice to hear,” Sean said, “but there’s no need to turn them away. As long as they join me, whether they truly give their all will be up to me.”

He looked around at the others.

“Just remember this: we are closely tied to the Ministry now. Avoid any conflicts with them. Our main enemies are still Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but if you encounter them, do not rush into battle. Think carefully before acting.”

Sean stood up.

“That’s all for now. If you have any questions you cannot answer, contact me at once. The Ouroboros Pentagram on your bodies will let you reach me directly.”

“As you command!”

“Yes, Master!”

“Understood!”

Sean nodded at their replies, then turned and left the Black Hat Pub, Apparating away in a flash.

The wizarding world was changing, and Hogwarts was no exception.

With Umbridge’s fall and escape, Borel’s memories and appearance erased and sent to America, the Ministry-appointed professor who had replaced Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures naturally left Hogwarts as well.

March the eighteenth.

At dinner, everyone was delighted to see Dumbledore, Hagrid, and Professor Joroth Jobbins—the beloved Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—back at the staff table. At the start of the meal, Harry Potter also returned to Gryffindor’s table, sparking cheers from his Housemates.

In contrast, things at the Slytherin table were not so bright.

Although the Ministry did not hold the students responsible, the children of known Death Eaters—Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe—found their situation dire. Other students with Death Eater parents fared a little better, but not much.

Sean ate quietly, watching the subtle changes in Malfoy, Goyle, and Crabbe’s relationships.

The Malfoy family’s status in the British wizarding world had plummeted. Their manor was sealed off, and outside, their shops and assets had lost nearly sixty per cent of their value to Ministry raids.

The title of “richest family” no longer belonged to the Malfoys.

With the family’s fall, Draco’s position in Slytherin had also dropped from the top. Most clearly, Goyle and Crabbe no longer obeyed him without question.

But these matters were of little concern to Sean.

Hogwarts had returned to peace, and it was time for him to focus on his exams.

With two sets of exams coming up, even Sean was not entirely confident.

After dinner, Sean declined Blaise and Jansen’s invitation to Hermione’s small group’s welcome-back party for Harry. Instead, he went straight to the Hogwarts dungeons and stood before Snape’s office.

Knock. Knock.

“Professor, may I come in?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Professor. I’ll come in now.”

He pushed the door open and saw Snape reading one of his previous essays. Sean was about to speak when he noticed something off about Snape. He reached out and grabbed Snape’s left hand, pulling up his sleeve.

Before him was a hideous, long black scar, writhing like a centipede across Snape’s arm.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 183

Chapter 183: Mandrakes, The Moon-Sleep Song

Greenhouse Three.

Leonardo took a pair of earmuffs without hurrying. There was no need to fight for them anyway. There was exactly one more set than there were students, and the leftover pair was clearly meant for Professor Sprout.

Sure enough, once everyone returned to their places with earmuffs in hand, Professor Sprout picked up the last remaining pair.

Pink.

"All right, everyone, earmuffs on! Make sure they're on properly and nice and tight. When I hold up two fingers, you can take them off. Now, get them on!"

The students obeyed at once, even helping each other check the fit.

Professor Sprout demonstrated. She seized the leaves, gave a hard yank, and pulled the Mandrake clean out of the soil.

What emerged was not a root. It was an ugly baby, pale green, pitted and blotched with uneven spots. Its face was scrunched in misery, and its mouth opened and closed in a furious scream.

The earmuffs were excellent. Leonardo could not hear a thing.

With practised speed, Professor Sprout stuffed the Mandrake into a larger pot, packing soil and fertiliser around it until only the leaves stuck out. Then she raised two fingers.

The students removed their earmuffs.

Professor Sprout slapped sharply at her shoulder, knocking back a deep red tendril covered in spikes. It was a Venomous Tentacula.

“Be careful when you take fertiliser. These Venomous Tentacula have started growing teeth. Right. Get started. Four to a group.”

Leonardo ended up with Terry, plus two Hufflepuffs, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones. Each of them took a pot with a Mandrake and laid out their tools.

Leonardo pulled his Mandrake out smoothly. It did not shriek, keeping its mouth firmly shut.

He was used to it. Thanks to his “Diligent Little Gardener” title, he had a degree of affinity with plants. Unless someone was deliberately controlling them, magical plants generally did not try to hurt him.

The others were not so lucky. Terry and the Hufflepuffs yanked theirs free, and their Mandrakes immediately opened their mouths to scream.

The sound could not reach them through the earmuffs, but the Mandrakes still fought like mad. They twisted their bodies, flailed their limbs, and thrashed in outright disgust at being pulled from the soil, yet they did not seem to want to go back either. Even when shoved into a new pot, if they were not quickly buried under soil and fertiliser, they kept wriggling nonstop.

Leonardo finished burying his quiet Mandrake and looked up.

Hannah was wincing and clutching her hand. Her Mandrake had slipped from her grip and dropped to the floor. Bitten, most likely. They were still seedlings, but their bite was nothing to laugh at.

Leonardo drew his wand and cast a healing charm over her hand. Hannah felt the pain ease at once. She pulled off her dragon-hide glove and watched the row of fresh red tooth marks fade quickly.

Startled, she looked up at Leonardo and began thanking him rapidly, adding a few more heartfelt lines for good measure. Then she remembered, too late, that they were all still wearing earmuffs. No one could hear her.

Leonardo simply nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dropped Mandrake writhing on the ground again, its mouth opening as it lurched toward Hannah’s ankle. There was no dragon-hide protection there. One bite would tear flesh.

Leonardo’s lips parted. In a strange, lilting tone, he sang a single obscure word.

“Sleep…”

The Mandrake froze. Its mouth worked twice, weakly, and then it toppled into slumber.

Oddly, because they stood so close, Terry and the others caught a faint trace of the word through their earmuffs. Their eyelids drooped instinctively, but since Leonardo didn’t continue the song—and what little sound reached them was muffled—they snapped awake almost at once.

They also noticed their own Mandrakes had calmed, no longer thrashing as violently as before.

Leonardo pointed at Hannah’s feet. Hannah followed his gesture, saw the Mandrake near her ankle, and went rigid with fear.

Knowing how hard a Mandrake could bite, she shuddered at the thought. Madam Pomfrey could heal it, sure, but torn flesh still hurt like nothing else.

Hannah hurriedly picked the Mandrake up. She did not understand why it seemed to be asleep, but she patted her chest in relief all the same. Still holding it, she began thanking Leonardo again, forgetting once more that no one could hear her through earmuffs.

Leonardo waved it off and replayed the feeling of using the Moon-Sleep Song just now.

It still was not smooth enough. His control was not fine enough.

He had learned the Moon-Sleep Song from one of Nicolas’s collected spellbooks, created by an ancient witch or wizard with Veela blood. It could soothe living beings, humans, animals, even magical plants, and lull them into sleep.

The magic was unusual. It required a special melody for the incantation, and the incantation itself was long, long enough to feel like lyrics. It was less spoken and more sung.

And the moment the singing began, the magic took hold. The longer the song continued, the stronger and more complete the effect became.

Leonardo had been fascinated by it. Many forms of ancient magic, at least in their shape and method, differed greatly from modern spellcasting. When he asked Nicolas why, the answer was simple.

Magic was created and passed down by witches and wizards.

In the beginning, those who awakened magical power by chance had no ready-made spells, no established potions, no alchemy. They explored everything for themselves, step by step.

Each person understood magic differently and excelled in different things, so the magic they created was diverse and brilliant in its own way. Perhaps ancient witches and wizards, in theory, knew fewer spells overall, but the magic they developed themselves was always best suited to them.

When you build something from nothing, you understand every step, every detail. You witness its birth and growth. That was how you pushed a spell to its limits.

Those old spells were hard to learn because they carried the clear imprint of an individual. Over time, fewer and fewer survived to be passed on.

That was what made it such a pity. Some knowledge, no matter how desperately you wanted to preserve it, simply could not be inherited.

Herbology class passed quickly, but the students were drenched in sweat, aching, and sore. Those ugly Mandrakes had fought them every step of the way. Leonardo felt little strain. For him, this amount of work was barely a warm-up.

After class, Hannah thanked Leonardo again. This time, she had clearly remembered that earlier, he could not hear her through the earmuffs.

Then Leonardo went to look for Professor Sprout. That morning, Fawkes had delivered him a letter: Dumbledore wanted Leonardo to help treat the Whomping Willow.

After all, it was the only Whomping Willow in Britain. If it truly died from being hit by a car, that would be a terrible waste. Its branches, leaves, and bark all had valuable medicinal uses, and Snape came to harvest some from time to time for potions.

Leonardo understood what Dumbledore wanted. He wanted Leonardo to use unicorn saliva to heal the Whomping Willow before it failed to recover, and he had promised Leonardo could collect any fallen branches, leaves, and bark.

Leonardo was happy to help, and not only because those materials were valuable. There was a spell he wanted to build, and it just so happened that it needed Whomping Willow branches and leaves.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 178

Chapter 178: Shrinking Satchel, Gilderoy the Ladies’ Man

Diagon Alley.

“Leonardo, thanks for sending me that pest control potion,” Hagrid said, grinning as he adjusted the massive bag slung over his shoulder. “Without it, those nasty carnivorous slugs would’ve eaten all my cabbages at school!”

Leonardo waved a hand dismissively.

“No need to thank me. As long as it worked.”

Hagrid rummaged in his bag and pulled out two enormous oranges, handing one each to Leonardo and Harry.

“Try it, try it. I reckon it’s delicious. I even bought some seeds to plant in my garden. When they fruit, you lot must come round for a taste.”

Leonardo stared at the orange, nearly half the size of his own head. He wasn’t sure he could eat it all in one sitting. Was this even an orange anymore?

Magic, he supposed. Always full of surprises.

But for Hagrid, the size was just right. Half-giants weren’t exactly known for their modest appetites.

Hagrid and Leonardo exchanged brief farewells. Hagrid still had to check for other plant seeds.

Leonardo shoved the giant orange into his pocket. Harry, still clutching his own orange with a look of suspicion, was handed a small pouch.

“You can put it in there for now.”

Harry took the palm-sized bag and tried to shove the orange into it. To his surprise, the fruit slid in smoothly, and the bag only bulged slightly.

“Leonardo, is this like your pocket? I remember you taught me about the Undetectable Extension Charm?”

“Sort of. It’s a Shrinking Satchel, a little device I made myself.”

The Shrinking Satchel looked similar to an Undetectable Extension Charm, but it was actually an ancient magic. It shrank the items stored inside rather than expanding the container. That meant it could never hold living things.

Leonardo had learned this from his teacher, Nicolas. The old alchemist’s library was truly vast, filled with obscure and wondrous spells that always left Leonardo with something new to study.

As for why he didn’t just use the more familiar Undetectable Extension Charm, well, those containers were strictly regulated by the Ministry of Magic. Using one privately was fine, but selling them publicly would invite Ministry scrutiny and possibly an invitation to their headquarters for tea.

Besides, the market for Undetectable Extension Charms was already saturated, and the prices were sky-high.

So Leonardo used only himself and Nicolas’ ancient technique. It was harder for competitors to crack and easier to produce.

Harry examined the small black bag curiously. It felt smooth to the touch, embroidered with simple silver patterns. It was elegant, yet practical.

He noticed a small insignia in one corner: an open book, its pages fluttering like the wings of an eagle in flight. On the cover were two crisp capital letters:

L.G.

Harry thought for a moment. That was probably Leonardo Grafton’s initials.

He pointed at the design.

“Leonardo, what’s this?”

“A logo. Or a trademark.”

Harry blinked. A trademark?

“So this is a product you made?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Harry’s mind raced. He remembered seeing Leonardo stuff all kinds of things into his pockets last year and had always been envious of the convenience. Textbooks, cauldrons, Quidditch gear—it would all be so easy to carry.

When he learned it was an application of the Undetectable Extension Charm, he resolved to learn it. But after a brief attempt, he’d found it headache-inducingly complex.

He admired Leonardo even more for mastering it so young. He’d decided then that he wanted to learn from him, hoping one day to make his own enchanted bag or backpack.

Now that he had a ready-made item, Harry was intrigued. Why not try it?

And if Leonardo said it was a product, complete with a special logo, it must be for sale.

“Er, Leonardo,” Harry asked, his interest obvious, “how much does this bag cost?”

Leonardo’s lips curved into a subtle smile. His famous brand ambassador had just walked into his shop.

The Boy Who Lived. Who didn’t know him?

Having someone famous promote his products was a win.

“This one’s the practical version,” Leonardo said. “It’s about the size of a wardrobe. It costs twenty Galleons and lasts six months.”

“If you’re interested, I’ll give you the cost price. But you’ll have to help me promote it, especially among the Gryffindors.”

Harry nodded without hesitation. He wasn’t short on money, and he’d be helping Leonardo.

“There are other versions, too. Different sizes, different durations, different prices.”

Leonardo handed Harry a list. It includes detailed trial, practical, advanced, and VIP editions. Harry’s eyes widened as he read.

The cheapest version was only five Sickles, the pocket money of most young witches and wizards for a week or two. It was about the size of a school bag, good for books, but it only lasted two months.

Harry thought for a moment. Spending a week or two’s allowance for two months of convenience was a fair trade.

And after stuffing the giant orange inside, the bag only felt a little heavier—definitely a load off his shoulders.

Harry looked at the VIP edition. It was the largest, longest-lasting, and most expensive. But what really caught his attention was a line highlighted in red:

VIP edition includes a customisation service: the customer’s name, family crest, or preferred design can be embroidered onto the satchel.

“Leonardo, why is that line so emphasised?” Harry asked, not quite understanding. “It feels like…”

He didn’t say it, but he felt the size and duration of the VIP edition didn’t quite justify the price. Was it only for the customisation?

Leonardo’s smile grew a little more knowing.

“Some people value that service.”

For example, certain witches and wizards who prized honour and reputation above all else.

Harry nodded, still a bit puzzled. But that didn’t stop him from counting out enough coins and handing them to Leonardo.

…

Flourish and Blotts.

“Ladies, please, don’t crowd. Mind the books!”

A tired wizard shouted, trying to calm the mob of middle-aged witches. But Gilderoy Lockhart’s popularity had driven them into a frenzy.

He was baffled. What did that Lockhart fellow have that was so magical? Sure, he was handsome, his smile was charming, and his adventures were colourful…

But really, was there anything worth raving about?

Inside the shop, a handsome man in a blue robe, the same shade as forget-me-nots, stood centre stage. His blue eyes sparkled with warmth, and his golden hair, covered by a pointed wizard’s hat, added a playful touch to his mature elegance.

At his appearance, the queue of witches erupted into cheers.

“Gilderoy Lockhart!”

“Lockhart!”

“I’ve bought your entire collection!”

“…”

Lockhart waved at his fans, flashing his trademark smile—eight teeth perfectly visible.

The witches shrieked again.

Leonardo watched from the crowd. The man’s appearance was polished, clearly tailored for middle-aged women.

For a moment, Leonardo was reminded of a certain internet celebrity from his past life.

But the wizard’s magic circuits were shockingly weak, barely stronger than some underage wizards.

So he really was just a fraud, like in the original story. Still, his magic was precise enough, which was probably why he excelled at Memory Charms.

But the Memory Charm was all he had.

Unlike Quirrell last year, Lupin next year, or Barty Crouch Jr. posing as Moody later on, who had genuine skill and knowledge to offer, Lockhart had nothing to teach.

If he really did spend a year as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, it would be a terrible waste.

Leonardo was pondering how strong Voldemort’s curse on the position really was, and whether he should help it along, when a loud voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!”

A short man shouted, brandishing a bulky black camera. He jumped around Lockhart, trying to capture every angle of the “Most Charming Smile Award” winner.

He didn’t care about the crowd, darting around until he nearly collided with Penelope.

Penelope was studying Lockhart’s pose and hadn’t noticed the photographer.

Leonardo saw the danger, but didn’t move.

Just as the man drew within half a metre of Penelope and showed no sign of slowing, a faint red light flashed from the ring on her finger.

The man slipped, crashing face-first to the ground, stars exploding before his eyes.

Leonardo didn’t even glance at the NPC. He was already assessing the effectiveness of the alchemical ring he’d given his aunt.

The magic triggered quickly, and the force of the counterattack was just right—strong enough to stop a threat, but not so strong as to draw attention.

Combined with other alchemical jewellery, her safety was well covered.

He’d also set up an alert spell. Any danger, and he’d know instantly.

Over the next year, whether selling alchemical items and potions or publishing magical papers, Leonardo knew his reputation in the wizarding world would rise.

If any malicious competitors or vengeful Dark wizards wanted to strike back, they might not dare to target him directly at Hogwarts. But they might go after his family.

The era was relatively peaceful, and fewer criminals dared to challenge the Ministry’s authority. But Leonardo didn’t like to leave things to chance.

He’d made several sets of alchemical jewellery for his aunt, each with powerful protective spells.

If danger ever triggered the alert, Aurelius could Apparate him back in an instant. The attackers would be best hoping the jewellery’s magic had already dealt with them. Otherwise…

As the photographer crashed, his camera flew from his hands and landed at Lockhart’s feet, instantly becoming a battle-damaged wreck. Lockhart’s smile froze for a second, and a flicker of embarrassment and annoyance passed through his eyes.

He looked down at the reporter sprawled on the floor, his gaze briefly disdainful before he plastered on his trademark smile again.

At that moment, Lockhart felt a pair of eyes on him. Deep green eyes.

He spotted their owner at once—a handsome youth with dark gold hair, standing beside a beautiful woman.

Both were looking at him, but their eyes held only calm scrutiny, not the usual adoration or envy.

It made Lockhart uncomfortable. He instinctively turned away.

Wait. Those glasses, that messy black hair, that face…

Lockhart’s eyes widened.

Harry Potter!

“The Boy Who Lived! Isn’t that Harry Potter?”

Lockhart shouted, jumping up with excitement.

This was a celebrity of the wizarding world, a boy whose fame and reputation were beyond compare.

Lockhart had worked so hard, stolen so many stories, written so many books, just to reach his current status.

But compared to Harry Potter, his popularity was like a firefly next to the moon.

Lockhart hurried to the front, deliberately avoiding the handsome youth. He didn’t like his gaze, nor did he like unknown young wizards.

Lockhart knew that good looks could get you far, but not for long. Only a rich history and lasting popularity could guarantee a lifetime of comfort.

Grabbing Harry’s arm, Lockhart felt his own fame surge.

He was thrilled he’d held this signing event today, meeting the legendary saviour. This was a chance to ride Harry’s coattails!

Harry, caught in the spotlight, felt his face flush.

He glanced at Leonardo, who gave him an encouraging look.

Remembering Leonardo’s warning that Lockhart might try to exploit his fame, Harry was both impressed by Leonardo’s foresight and nervous about what came next.

As Lockhart dragged Harry to the front, the reporter on the floor suddenly snapped out of his daze. His camera was miraculously intact in front of him.

“Reporter, please help me record this.”

The reporter, no longer confused, grabbed his camera and got to work.

Leonardo quietly tucked his wand back into his sleeve. Such a rare publicity opportunity was not to be wasted.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 182

Chapter 182: Materials for the Philosopher’s Stone, Herbology Class

While eating lunch in the Great Hall, Leonardo was also quietly planning Lockhart’s early retirement.

Lockhart really was an empty suit, a decorative vase. He offered young witches and wizards nothing useful for learning or growth.

Unless someone wanted to learn how to dress up, smile and pose, fabricate stories, and become the darling of middle-aged witches…

A timid voice beside him suddenly broke his train of thought.

“H-hello, Harry?”

“I’m Colin Creevey. I’m in Gryffindor too. C-can I take a photo of you?”

Leonardo saw a very small, thin, ash-grey-haired boy standing behind Harry, clutching a Muggle camera, his face full of eager hope and nerves.

As Colin introduced himself, Leonardo understood. Another Muggle-born. He wanted to take more magical photos and send them home to show his dad.

Leonardo had thought it had nothing to do with him and was about to get up and leave when Colin turned to him as well, eyes shining.

“You’re definitely Leonardo Grafton, right? The Sorting Hat mentioned you. And last night in the common room, there were twin prefects selling magical items you invented. It was incredible. They said it’s alchemy. It looked so mysterious!”

“It’s a shame I don’t have enough pocket money. I can’t buy the compass yet. The stairs before class today made my head spin. But it’s all right, I can follow my roommates. Some of them bought one…”

Hearing that, Leonardo decided the demand for the compass and map really was solid.

Once other students personally experienced how “wicked” Hogwarts staircases could be, and saw Gryffindor’s late rate drop sharply in comparison, the twins’ business would only get better.

Colin raised the camera, looking back and forth between Harry and Leonardo.

“Could I take a photo of both of you? And if you could sign it afterwards, that would be even better!”

Leonardo did not mind and nodded.

Harry, perhaps because he had already been forced into publicity at Lockhart’s signing and photographed by the Daily Prophet, hesitated briefly, then agreed as well.

Colin quickly took the picture. He squatted beside Harry to confirm the shot, talking excitedly as he did.

“I heard that if you use a special developing potion, the photos can move. Magic is amazing.”

“When it’s developed, could you sign it for me? Sorry to bother you…”

Then a drawling, smug voice floated in from the side.

“Potter. Looks like you’re already important enough to hand out signed photos, are you?”

“Should we queue up for ours?”

Harry did not need to turn around to know who it was. When he faced the voice, there was Draco Malfoy, wearing his usual irritating expression.

But Harry’s reaction was strange. He stole a glance at Leonardo and saw an amused, knowing smile.

Draco frowned. His little jab had not landed the way it should.

He sensed something off in the atmosphere and instinctively looked at Leonardo, smiling as if nothing was wrong.

Draco had noticed last term that, outside tutoring sessions, Leonardo rarely interfered in his “battle” with Harry.

He had planned to mock Harry and win back a point, but something felt wrong.

Draco could not figure it out. His words were perfectly sharp, so why was nobody taking the bait?

Leonardo looked at Draco and found him genuinely entertaining.

Draco, the little dragon, had a tongue as sharp as Harry’s in its own way. He envied Harry and resented him. He wanted to be friends, but his first impression had been atrocious.

One glance, a lifetime.

A bad first meeting, and a potential friend became an enemy.

An idea struck Leonardo, and he turned to Colin with a light laugh.

“This is Draco Malfoy. The Malfoy family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, pure-blood wizarding nobility…”

“Colin, aren’t you documenting magical things? The heir of the Malfoy family is representative enough, isn’t he?”

Before Draco could react, Leonardo gave Colin a quick blink.

Colin was quick-witted. He immediately understood and raised the camera toward Draco.

“May I take a photo of you?”

“Huh?”

Draco looked as if his brain had stalled.

To be honest, Draco had been jealous, or perhaps envious, that Harry had been photographed and reported on by the Daily Prophet a few days ago.

Now a kid was asking to photograph him?

Yes, the kid was in Gryffindor. Yes, he looked like a Muggle-born. Yes, yes, yes.

But Leonardo had just said it.

He was the heir of the Malfoy family. He was pure-blood nobility. He was a symbol of magic itself.

How could he refuse?

Draco, thoroughly led by the nose, suppressed his excitement, cleared his throat, and tried to sound dignified.

“Ahem. Very well — Malfoy grants permission. Er… try to get my good side.”

He stood very straight, face set in solemn determination.

Colin clicked away.

“Er, could you do a pose?”

Draco hesitated, then stiffly held up a V sign.

The back of his neck went slightly red, betraying how awkward he felt.

Leonardo nodded faintly. As expected, pure-blood nobles were vulnerable to this sort of thing.

The plan he had set up for the twins was probably fine. Most students were short on money, but that did not include the pure-blood crowd.

Especially Slytherin. Their purses tended to be full.

Still, Draco’s emotions felt a little bottled up…

Leonardo glanced at the colourful crystal ball in his pocket. In his special vision, thin strands of ribbon-like colour drifted off Draco and slipped into the crystal ball.

This was a method Nicolas had taught him: collecting “emotion”.

And “emotion” was one of the materials needed to refine the Philosopher’s Stone.

According to Nicolas, the best and purest material for creating a Philosopher’s Stone was the soul energy left behind at the moment of a human’s death.

Leonardo had assumed that meant a whole soul at first, but thinking it through made it clear. If the Philosopher’s Stone required refining human souls by such a wicked method, then the pinnacle of alchemy would belong under Dark magic.

So why had Nicolas been able to make so many Philosopher’s Stones?

He had lived for more than six hundred years. How many times had humans suffered mass death during that span?

Wars. Famines. Plagues.

Nicolas had set Leonardo an assignment: to refine a Philosopher’s Stone with his own hands.

If there was not enough soul energy to be found, then the “colour of the soul”, emotion, could also work.

…

Emotion.

Joy, anger, sorrow, happiness, anxiety…

They were ripples of the soul’s movement, tiny yet real traces of soul energy.

They could not compare to the eruption of energy at death, but they had one advantage: they were everywhere, and they could be collected continuously.

Where people gathered, emotions tangled.

And what group’s emotions shifted most frequently?

Children and teenagers.

Leonardo looked across the Great Hall at the young witches and wizards. There was no better place than a school.

And because magic existed, witches and wizards produced more energetic emotions than Muggles.

Holding the colourful crystal ball, Leonardo felt the only pity was that it required constant magical power to maintain. Nicolas’ method was also complex and difficult to learn. Otherwise, hiding a few of these in a Muggle school would have been a gold mine.

Aside from sleeping hours at night, when only late-night students and rule-breakers could provide emotional energy, everyone’s emotions were wonderfully rich.

During lessons, the dominant emotions were surprise, sorrow, fear, and the like. During breaks and weekends, it was all joy and delight.

After mastering the spells Nicolas had taught him for observing and capturing emotion,  
Leonardo returned to Hogwarts—and made a remarkable discovery.

The castle didn’t just absorb the stray magic of young witches and wizards to keep itself alive.  
It also gathered their emotional energy.

The founders had built something extraordinary.  

He longed to see the heart of that design for himself—to understand what principles of ancient alchemy and rune‑craft it was based on.

A magical structure of such scale couldn’t exist without at least one central core.  

Those cores would guide the flow of magic and hold the system together,  
ensuring the entire castle remained stable.

Dumbledore, as Headmaster, definitely knew.

But this sort of school secret would not be easy to negotiate access to.

Did he have to wait until he became Headmaster Grafton?

…

Afternoon.

Outside the greenhouses.

Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff waited for their Herbology professor.

Soon, Professor Sprout appeared.

She was dressed as practically as always, her thick hat patched again and again, her clothes streaked with soil.

Leonardo, sharp-eyed as ever, noticed something unusual. Professor Sprout, normally warm and cheerful, was wearing a stern expression, clearly displeased.

His gaze shifted behind her, and he immediately understood why.

Gilderoy Lockhart, dazzling in a bright silver robe, followed at her heels. The robe was painfully eye-catching, covered in medals of various sizes that clinked and swayed as he walked.

Lockhart was bareheaded, letting his golden hair gleam in the sunlight.

As they drew close, Leonardo could hear Lockhart’s voice.

“Pomona, the method I used this morning did not show obvious results. I must have mixed it up with the incident from Travels with Trolls. My adventures are so rich, it’s a burden of its own.”

“Ordinary spells only enrage the Whomping Willow, but there is an extremely ancient soothing ritual, nearly lost to time. All it takes is a moonlit night and the singing of a beautiful Veela lullaby…”

Leonardo’s lips twitched. What Lockhart described sounded vaguely like an ancient magic Nicolas had taught him.

But Leonardo was certain Lockhart was boasting and making it up. If pressed for details, Lockhart would probably dodge with an excuse like, “Oh, it’s far too complex and dangerous, it may lead to, er, unpredictable consequences, so it is not the time to reveal it to the public,” and then slip away.

Lockhart kept prattling, completely ignoring the rare edge of irritation on Sprout’s face.

His attention had already shifted to the students waiting for class. Lockhart lifted his trademark smile.

“Hello. Professor Sprout and I are currently treating the Whomping Willow. Do not try to imitate out of curiosity. That creature is injured, but it is still beyond the capabilities of young witches and wizards. After all, driving off Banshees, outwitting trolls, facing down werewolves…”

Some girls listened, gazing at his smile, giggling dreamily. A few boys also looked impressed by his “adventures”.

Just as Professor Sprout was about to cut him off, Lockhart, smiling smugly, noticed someone in the crowd.

Someone who looked familiar.

Those deep green eyes…

Lockhart remembered the signing a few days ago and recognised their owner at once, the handsome young wizard whose bearing and looks were not inferior to his own.

Lockhart had not expected such a coincidence.

There had been so many people at last night’s feast, and he had been basking in admiration. He had not paid Leonardo any attention.

Now Leonardo’s gaze was calm. There was no obvious judgment in it.

But it still made Lockhart uncomfortable.

As if the look could peel away layers of disguise and reveal what lay underneath.

“Ahem. I’ve just remembered something I must deal with,” Lockhart said abruptly. “I won’t disturb you. I’ll be off.”

He cut the conversation short and hurried away toward the castle.

Strangely, that guilty, uneasy feeling began to fade.

Lockhart breathed out, then his confidence flared back up.

It did not matter. With that miraculous diary guiding him, he could cause a major incident at Hogwarts and have a truly great adventure at last.

He would become the centre of the wizarding world.

Imagining that overwhelming fame and endless praise, Lockhart’s steps became lighter.

His departure was abrupt, but Professor Sprout did not care. Good riddance.

This new colleague was thoroughly unlikable.

Professor Sprout waved the students over.

“All right. We’re going to Greenhouse Three.”

In the first year, they had only used Greenhouse One, where the plants were safe.

Greenhouse Three held more interesting plants.

It was also more dangerous.

Once the students were in position, Professor Sprout began.

“Today, we will be repotting Mandrakes. Now, who can tell me what properties Mandrakes have?”

Since the previous class had been Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, there was no shortage of answers. Hufflepuff tended to excel in Herbology, and Ravenclaw tended to be widely read.

“Mandrakes, also known as Mandrake roots. Their root and sap are a powerful restorative. They are used to return transfigured people, and those under certain spells, back to normal.”

Leonardo knew this plant well. He had a patch growing in his own trunk.

At first, it had been pure curiosity. A mature Mandrake’s cry could kill.

Later, it became essential to make the antidote to his Transfiguration Sweets. A prank was one thing, but if you turned a student into an animal, you had to turn them back.

Otherwise, Hogwarts would be full of birds and beasts wandering the corridors.

“Excellent. Ravenclaw, ten points.”

Professor Sprout asked next about Mandrake dangers. When she received a correct answer, she awarded Hufflepuff ten points as well. She clapped her hands.

“Good. Everyone take a pair of earmuffs.”

The moment she spoke, the students hurried to the bench where the earmuffs were laid out.

No one dared to be slow.

After all, nobody wanted to be the last one standing with the pink pair.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 181

Chapter 181: Shop Opening, Lockhart’s Early Retirement?

At the Ravenclaw table, Leonardo stared at the first-year who had sprinted straight up to him and, in a flash, remembered a bit of idle chatter he’d once had with the Sorting Hat.

“Once I’ve sorted the new students into the right houses, I’ll mention your name and have them thank you…”

“Ever since you wore me, I feel like I’ve gotten a lot smarter…”

The hat’s words rang in his ears, and an unpleasant suspicion formed.

It had been a full year. That hat could not possibly still remember that, could it?

The girl’s hopeful expression left him no room to dodge. Leonardo nodded, a little stiffly.

The first-year blinked those big eyes of hers.

“Heehee, brilliant. I was worried I’d picked the wrong person. That would’ve been so embarrassing.”

“The Sorting Hat said it can sort people even more accurately now. It said it was already accurate before, of course, but it said that was all thanks to you, Senior.”

“It said it really wanted to thank you, and that I should take you as my example and learn from you. It also said you’re very easy to recognise, dark gold hair, those distinctive deep green eyes, and, um, very handsome…”

Leonardo barely heard the rest. His brain had gone numb.

So this was happening. His name was going to spread through the first-years whether he liked it or not.

A legendary speedrun to fame.

He could practically picture it. The Sorting Hat perched on a trembling first-year’s head, whispering in a conspiratorial voice, and somehow dragging Leonardo’s name into it.

Wait.

Leonardo snapped back from the shock and embarrassment, and another thought slid into place.

Wasn’t he planning to sell alchemical items and potions anyway? Design, production, sales, publicity, all at once.

If the products were sold under his name, then his reputation and his merchandise were naturally tied together. When more people recognised and praised the quality, they would also pay attention to the inventor behind them.

And if his name travelled far enough, it would become advertising all by itself.

The Sorting Hat’s behaviour was outrageous.

But… it was helping, technically.

So Leonardo reluctantly abandoned the idea of throwing the Sorting Hat into the Black Lake for a nice long wash.

The first-year bowed again and ran off to sit with the rest of the newly sorted Ravenclaws.

“Terry, who was seated beside him, nudged Leonardo with an elbow, eyes bright with curiosity.

“Oi, Leonardo. Why would the Sorting Hat mention you specifically?”

Leonardo glanced at the hat bobbing about on first-years’ heads and said, with a straight face, “I paid it an advertising fee.”

Fortunately, there were no more Ravenclaw first‑years with the same social‑butterfly energy as that girl. Nobody else came marching over to greet him or try to curry favour.

But without exception, they kept sneaking glances in his direction.

And just like that, the Sorting Ceremony ended smoothly.

Nobody spent several minutes in limbo waiting for a decision this time.

…

Gryffindor common room.

“Right, this is our common room,” Percy said, herding the new students inside. “Remember, this year’s password is ‘Honeyguide’.”

“If you have questions, come and ask me. I’m a prefect.”

After giving instructions, Percy turned to leave.

The first-years, newly introduced to the wizarding world, were buzzing with excitement. They craned their heads, scanning the room for traces of magic as if hoping to spot enchantment crawling across the walls.

Then they noticed a counter.

It was impossible to miss, mainly because of the banner hanging above it.

The letters flowed like liquid light, occasionally throwing off tiny sparks like miniature fireworks. At both ends, above the words “The Seventh Workshop (Hogwarts Special),” several holographic magical projections floated in mid-air, slowly rotating to show off their charm from every angle.

The banner’s border was even more dramatic. Four animals, a lion, an eagle, a snake, and a badger, chased one another in an endless loop around the words. They ran, leapt, and occasionally cried out, as if the whole thing were alive.

At the very bottom, a line of elegant silver text streaked past like a meteor.

“The secrets of wisdom and courage are found here.”

Behind the counter stood two identical red-haired, freckled twins.

The moment they caught the first-years looking over, their eyes lit up. In perfect unison, they launched into their sales pitch.

“First-years, lads and lasses alike, come take a look!”

“You probably don’t understand just how troublesome Hogwarts staircases can be!”

“Their patterns, honestly, mm, mm…”

“You won’t remember them unless you’ve been late for years!”

“And if you’re late to class, most professors might let it slide, but Professor Snape in Potions…”

“He’ll turn you into his personal test toad!”

A good chunk of the first-years went pale.

After all, wicked wizards turning people into toads was a standard feature of children’s stories.

The twins threw their arms wide.

“But don’t panic. A certain Ravenclaw senior has already prepared the ‘clear-the-level item’ for you!”

“Ta-da!”

Fred produced an antique bronze compass from beneath the counter, its design elegant and unusual. The needle was not fixed. It spun lightly, as if it were breathing.

George immediately took over, explaining with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“It won’t show you those dizzying lines and squiggles. All you have to do is tell it, before you leave, ‘I want to go to the Potions classroom!’”

“And trust me, even if the stairs spin you in place three times, the needle will still point firmly at your destination!”

As soon as George finished, Fred snapped open a piece of parchment that looked completely blank.

He tapped it lightly with his wand. Ink-black lines spread like living veins, quickly sketching the outline of the castle. Through a maze of staircases, one path glowed blue, winding forward with unmistakable clarity.

“And for customers who value convenience and efficiency…”

“We also offer the ‘Shortcut Map’!”

“See that glowing route? It plans the most stable path for the next five minutes, so you can stroll through shifting staircases like you own the place. Elegant. Timeless.”

“Of course,” the twins concluded together, wearing matching you-know-what-this-means smiles, “we also accept pre-orders for our soon-to-be-launched ‘map’ that will provide even more information.”

“As for the price, you must understand, knowledge has weight.”

The first-years were mesmerised. The fear on their faces had already been replaced by curiosity.

A few braver students squeezed to the counter, clutching their coin pouches as if they might be snatched away at any moment.

“Um… the most basic compass, how much?”

A short boy asked timidly.

George leaned in with a radiant smile that clearly said, ‘You’re getting the bargain of your life.’

“Since you’re our first customer today, ten Knuts.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the clink of coins began to sound at the counter.

The Weasley twins shared a look, seeing the same thought reflected in each other’s eyes.

Wages, no, the fund for dreams, secured.

…

Back in the dormitory after two months away.

At the workbench, Leonardo extinguished the flame beneath his cauldron and waited for the potion to cool. After stretching, he pulled up his system panel and opened the section for the Emerald Ledger Loan.

Sales volume. Sales revenue.

Once his alchemical items and potions entered official trade, the system updated in real time. That part, at least, was convenient.

After the start-of-term feast, the growth rate had increased slightly.

So the twins had already started pushing sales in Gryffindor.

Once the Seventh Workshop truly made its presence known inside Hogwarts, and the first-years experienced the staircases’ eerie shifting for themselves, sales would climb even more.

In Leonardo’s estimation, it would not be limited to first years. A fair number of second-years and even third-years would still want items like the Stair-Step Compass and the Shortcut Map.

Hogwarts had 142 staircases, and plenty of them changed in all sorts of ways, turning, vanishing, shifting height, and more.

Their patterns were not uniform either. Some changed with time, some responded to footsteps, some reacted to specific passwords…

Only students who could memorise those patterns earned the privilege of never being late.

But when you were in a hurry, it was easy to mix up the rules and end up with a complimentary late slip.

Leonardo had once discussed the staircases with Dumbledore, pointing out that they could interfere with learning.

Dumbledore’s response had been calm, even cheerful.

“Learning to cope with accidents and change is also a form of growth. I believe once they graduate, the children will miss these moving staircases.”

Leonardo had been speechless.

If this were not the wizarding world, he might have suspected the Headmaster was embezzling funds and cutting student-friendly projects.

His old life had offered the perfect example. A headmaster who claimed to renovate the canteen, only for the students to return and find he’d merely painted one wall. He was reported and escorted straight into prison.

Leonardo suspected Dumbledore simply did not devote his true focus to Hogwarts as a school.

After Voldemort rose, Dumbledore’s attention had been on the Dark Lord. After Harry’s birth reduced Voldemort to a wraith, Dumbledore shifted to cultivating the saviour.

So, even as Headmaster, Dumbledore’s investment in the day-to-day of Hogwarts was not particularly high.

Leonardo had spoken with Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and others. They were equally frustrated by the decline in student quality over the years.

In peacetime, witches and wizards learned magic with future employment in mind. They wanted stable lives.

That was different from the era when everyone lived in fear, and students trained desperately, honing their magic because they were afraid they would be killed the moment they stepped outside the school gates.

But the long-term decline in graduate capability was a fact, and responsible educators could not ignore it.

Leonardo understood Dumbledore’s approach. The old wizard was wise and powerful, and he saw far.

Dumbledore cared about the survival of the wizarding world as a whole. He watched the Dark Lord and the saviour.

As for the growth of a few generations of students, well, Dumbledore could “set that aside for now”.

Leonardo believed school should be a place to properly learn knowledge.

He also knew he lacked the authority and ability to overhaul everything. But making a few small devices to help classmates improve efficiency was within reach.

He was inventing and selling alchemical tools and potions anyway. The process itself was practice, and practice was learning.

Three birds, one stone.

When the potion had cooled enough, Leonardo cut it into small sweets and dusted them with sugar.

He wrapped the trial batch carefully, planning to hand it to the twins tomorrow along with other samples.

A new product always needs customer feedback first.

Compared to the compass and the map, these consumables were much cheaper—most cost only a few Knuts per serving, and anything priced in Sickles already counted as expensive.

That suited children’s spending power.

The reality was simple. Aside from a handful of students who had much money to throw around? He had to rely on small profits and high volume to boost overall sales.

The compass and map also had different durations, which conveniently defined how often students would need replacements.

Of course, students would quickly realise something else.

They could pool money and share.

If funds were tight, two or three could use one together.

But even then, schedules diverged. Someone would be alone sooner or later.

At that point, either trust your own brain, pray that an older student walked past, or hope a portrait or ghost took pity on you.

Once they saved enough pocket money, they would each buy their own.

…

Great Hall.

Over lunch, Harry scooped up a spoonful of creamy mushroom soup, but did not drink it. He sighed instead.

“We haven’t even had Defence Against the Dark Arts yet, but I’m a bit worried about Professor Lockhart.”

Leonardo thought for a moment. According to the timetable, Gryffindor should have had Herbology in the morning. How had they ended up on Lockhart already?

Ron looked much better than he had the day before — no longer wilted, likely revived by a proper meal.

“Yeah,” he said, “Lockhart kept hinting he’s better at Herbology than Professor Sprout. He’s so over the top. I don’t know why Mum and the others like that peacock.”

“And that outfit — bright green robes, and a hat just as flashy. Honestly. Oh, Harry, when he pulled you aside before class, what did he say?”  

Harry set down his spoon, irritated.  

“Before class? We were already in class. Professor Sprout clearly didn’t like it, but Lockhart dragged me away anyway and rambled on about what fame feels like, the Daily Prophet front page, the Most Charming Smile Award…”

“And then he said he’d demonstrate for Professor Sprout how to treat the Whomping Willow. Does wrapping bandages really help? It looked crooked to me…”

As he spoke, Harry’s guilt surfaced. He and Ron had smashed into that tree, and it was said to be older than the two of them put together.

Leonardo understood the gist. Lockhart was doing what he always did, boasting about a wealth of experience that did not exist.

But tricking starry-eyed women was one thing. Showing off fake Herbology knowledge in front of the actual Herbology professor was another.

It was pure nonsense, only good for fooling people who did not know better. It was like waving a blade in front of a master swordsman.

Lockhart really did need to leave sooner rather than later.

Early retirement would be best.

And since Tom Riddle’s diary had ended up in Lockhart’s hands… perhaps learning the Memory Charm and replacing him with a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor who actually had real skill could be dealt with in one go.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 180

Chapter 180: A Cool Way to Start School, Another Year’s Start-of-Term Feast

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Leonardo had just stepped off the Hogwarts Express when he heard a familiar booming voice.

“All right, first-years! Gather round here!”

Hagrid waved his lantern, calling the new students. He spotted Leonardo right away and lumbered over.

“Hullo, another new year! Feels like time flies, doesn’t it?”

Leonardo smiled and nodded.

“Yes, this year might be interesting.”

Hagrid, busy with his duties, gave a quick farewell and headed off to guide the first-years—just as he had for years. The older students could take the carriages.

Leonardo boarded a thestral-drawn carriage, returning to the castle he hadn’t seen for two months. There was something special about Hogwarts, a unique “magic” that made young witches and wizards feel at home.

He made his way to the Great Hall. Not many students were there yet, only scattered groups at the long tables.

Leonardo headed straight for the Ravenclaw table, ready to watch this year’s Sorting Ceremony.

But as he glanced toward the Gryffindor table, he spotted two faces that shouldn’t be there yet.

He walked closer. Yes, definitely not supposed to be here this early.

“Harry, Ron, when did you get here?”

Harry and Ron sat at the table, looking like they’d been through a war. Their faces were pale and drawn, as if every ounce of energy had been drained.

According to the original story, these two should have arrived in style—flying the enchanted car, making a dramatic entrance. But they were supposed to be late, missing the feast.

Leonardo had helped Mr Weasley modify the car, adding automatic invisibility and some reinforcements. He’d optimised the magic power reserves and even set up an auto-return feature. In theory, it should have made their adventure safer, less risky.

But his modifications couldn’t have made them arrive early, could they?

Hearing Leonardo’s voice, Harry and Ron looked up. Harry was still conscious, but Ron wore a look of utter despair.

“Leonardo,” Ron mumbled, “I’m doomed. Can you make me some beef stew, mapo tofu, white cut chicken… one last meal? I don’t want to die with regrets…”

Leonardo, though puzzled by Ron’s menu as if ordering a last meal, asked patiently, “What happened to you two?”

Harry pushed up his glasses and rubbed his hair weakly.

“Let me explain…”

It was a few hours earlier…

Harry and Ron had stuffed their luggage and pets into the old Ford Anglia. Harry was still nervous.

“Ron, you really know how to drive?”

Ron opened the car door and slapped his chest.

“Don’t worry! Dad and Leonardo modified this car. I helped out, so I know what I’m doing!”

The car started. As the wheels left the ground, the whole vehicle instantly turned invisible. The Muggles nearby didn’t notice a thing.

“See? Leonardo helped add an invisibility switch. It activates automatically. Dad can’t stop praising him—says there aren’t many young wizards who understand both Muggle cars and magic.”

“Thanks to Leonardo, Dad’s made even more upgrades.”

Ron gripped the wheel, flying smoothly through the air as he chatted with Harry.

“Leonardo only stayed with us for a few days, so most of the later modifications were done by Dad.”

Noticing Harry gripping the door frame tightly, Ron reassured him.

“Relax! The excellent Ron Car Captain will safely deliver the great saviour—Harry Potter—to Hogwarts!”

Harry tried to remind Ron that cars didn’t have captains, only drivers, but Ron was already behind the wheel, so Harry just smiled awkwardly.

The two settled in for the ride, snacking on Pumpkin Pasties and Fizzing Whizzbees from the trolley stash. Every so often, Ron reached for a Chocolate Frog, only for it to leap onto the windscreen and smack its face against the glass before sliding down with a wet squeak. Harry burst out laughing, nearly dropping a Bertie Bott’s bean that—unfortunately—turned out to taste like spinach.

They soared higher, the clouds rolling past the windows, the air inside the car filled with crumbs, candy wrappers, and laughter.

“Fred and George are going to be so jealous. Imagine us landing out of nowhere… just picture it…”

Ron chewed his candy, shaking his head with excitement.

Harry nodded, admiring the beautiful, miniature landscape below.

But after a few hours, boredom set in.

Of course—flying for hours would tire adults, let alone Ron, who was barely more than a kid.

With nothing much to do besides chat, Harry sighed.

“I wish we could get there faster…”

Ron slapped his forehead.

“Duh! I forgot about that!”

He kept one hand on the wheel, the other fiddling with the dashboard. Complex mechanical panels slid open, making Harry dizzy.

Soon, a bright red button appeared.

Harry perked up.

“What’s that?”

“This is Dad’s acceleration device! I helped with this one too!”

Ron proudly pressed the button.

Flames shot from the back of the car, and both boys felt a strong push.

“Awesome! We’ll get there early and surprise everyone!”

Harry laughed, feeling the thrill.

They soon left the Hogwarts Express far behind, flying along the tracks toward Hogwarts.

The sun was still up when the car entered Hogwarts grounds. Harry saw the castle’s outline and warned Ron.

“We’re almost there. Shouldn’t we turn off the boost?”

Ron nodded and pressed the button twice.

But the car didn’t slow down.

Harry grew uneasy.

“Ron, why aren’t we slowing down?”

“I did! But it’s not working!”

Ron’s voice was tense. He stomped on the brakes, but nothing happened.

“We could try circling—”

Before he finished, the car suddenly went out of control, veering wildly through the air.

“Aaaah!”

The boys screamed.

The car hurtled straight toward a giant tree.

Just as they braced for impact, a faint but sturdy glow lit up the car’s surface.

“BOOM!”

The thick trunk was split wide open, every branch and leaf shaking violently.

The boys barely had time to react. The car, still moving fast, swerved toward one of the castle’s towers.

…

At the long table in the Great Hall.

Leonardo listened to Harry’s story, then fell into a long silence.

His help with the car’s modifications had prevented Harry and Ron from being seen by Muggles and kept Mr Weasley out of trouble with the Ministry. In theory, these changes were good—especially the first half.

But Mr Weasley had more time to add his own upgrades, which led to this disaster.

“Change… good, bad…”

Leonardo murmured, then looked at Harry and Ron, their faces still pale with despair.

“So, after you crashed into the Whomping Willow, you also rammed into the tower where the Headmaster’s office is?”

“Yes…”

Leonardo didn’t ask if Dumbledore had been in his office at the time. Even if he had, could the greatest wizard of the age really be killed by a flying car?

“Actually, the Whomping Willow might not be completely destroyed…”

Harry said quietly.

“The gap wasn’t that big. Maybe it can be saved…”

But Ron cut in with a bitter laugh.

“But when we crashed in, we really scared the Headmaster’s bird.”

The Headmaster’s bird?

Fawkes.

Scared to death?

Phoenixes were magical creatures. When seriously injured or old, they would naturally be reborn.

According to the original story, Fawkes was due to be reborn this year. Had this accident just sped up the process?

Maybe the old bird had a weak heart. Leonardo would have to check later. He’d never seen a newborn phoenix before.

“That red phoenix—Fawkes—did it burst into flames and turn to ash?”  

Harry and Ron’s eyes widened. They spoke at once.  

“How did you know?”  

“Oh, Leonardo,” Ron groaned, “you’ve read so much you even know what happens when a phoenix gets scared to death.”

Leonardo’s lips twitched. He explained the truth.

“That’s the phoenix’s rebirth…”

Harry and Ron relaxed slightly, but still looked gloomy.

“Snape arrived at the Headmaster’s office first. Almost as soon as we crashed in, he was there. Do you think he was waiting for us, hoping to expel us?”

Leonardo thought. Snape was a master of potions, not prophecy. He probably couldn’t have predicted the boys would fly a car into the Headmaster’s office.

Maybe he was there to discuss something with Dumbledore, apply for the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, or bring the Headmaster some potion to prevent tooth decay and diabetes?

“Then Dumbledore arrived. He said he’d write to our families.”

“But the punishment hasn’t been decided. He wants to discuss it with our Head of House, Professor McGonagall. No student has ever driven a car into the Headmaster’s office before…”

When they mentioned the letter, Leonardo noticed a difference in Harry and Ron’s reactions. Harry was okay, but Ron looked terrified.

Of course—Harry’s relationship with the Dursleys was terrible. They probably wouldn’t care if he got into trouble, as long as it didn’t affect them.

But Ron’s family was different.

It would depend on what Dumbledore wrote in the letter.

…

Soon, it was time for the start-of-term feast.

The older students watched with amusement. Seeing the new students was always entertaining.

Leonardo observed the newcomers.

There seemed to be more first-years than last year. Was there a wizarding baby boom?

Well, the twins would have more customers, and Leonardo had designed a few new products for the new students.

First up was the Sorting Ceremony.

Professor McGonagall announced the rules and picked up the Sorting Hat.

The new students were curious, whispering among themselves. That was normal.

But even the older students, who had seen the ceremony before, seemed unsettled.

“That colour… is that the Sorting Hat?”

“Yes, why is it grey and white? Wasn’t it grey-brown before?”

“Maybe they replaced it. Maybe the old one was too worn out.”

But someone quickly objected.

“That’s not right. The patches are in the same places. It’s the same hat. Maybe they used magic to change the colour, or cleaned it?”

Magic changing the colour made sense—after all, they were wizards.

But the second guess made the others fall silent. Someone’s voice trembled.

“If they cleaned it… then the old grey-brown…”

The student couldn’t finish. They were afraid of what they might imagine, but someone else said, “Maybe it was old head oil. The kind passed down for a thousand years?”

“Shut up! Don’t say any more!”

Leonardo listened, feeling exasperated. Had no Headmaster ever thought to clean the Sorting Hat? Or was it a tradition they all accepted?

Leonardo remembered that after he’d worn the hat, it had changed colour and asked Dumbledore for a cleaning. Maybe he’d done his fellow students a favour?

Soon, Leonardo noticed something odd. The first-years, after being sorted, would glance toward the Ravenclaw table.

What were they looking at?

Leonardo thought. The common factor must be the Sorting Hat. Maybe the increasingly lively hat had told them something.

Not long after, Ravenclaw welcomed its first new student of the year—a girl.  

The Eagle House, which had always tended to have more girls than boys, took it in stride.

The older students clapped warmly, welcoming the new member.

Leonardo joined in the applause. He saw the girl approach the table and bow deeply.

He was about to think she was unusually polite when she suddenly looked up, scanning the table as if searching for someone.

When her eyes met Leonardo’s, she walked straight over.

She stood before him, her big eyes blinking, and whispered.

“Are you Leonardo Grafton, the senior?”

Leonardo’s heart skipped a beat. He remembered something…

A conversation with the Sorting Hat…

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 179

Chapter 179: Harry Turns the Tables, The Diary’s True Master

Click, click. The shutter snapped again and again.

“Smile nicely, Harry. We’ll be on the front page.”

Lockhart flashed his trademark grin, whispering to Harry.

Harry only felt awkward. This man was just… strange.

When the shutter paused, Lockhart raised his voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what an exciting moment!”

“When young Harry walked into the shop this morning to buy my autobiography, Magical Me—my book which has topped the Daily Prophet’s bestseller list for twenty-seven weeks—he could never have imagined…”

Lockhart paused, building suspense.

“I would give Harry my entire collection, absolutely free!”

Applause erupted. Lockhart was pleased, ready to wave Harry off and begin his signing.

But he didn’t notice Harry taking several deep breaths, gripping a black bag embroidered with silver patterns.

“Oh, these books are so heavy, I really can’t carry them all!”

Harry’s loud, exaggerated voice made Lockhart’s smile freeze. He turned to look at Harry, then at the books. What was the boy up to?

How heavy could a few books be? Maybe he didn’t eat enough or exercise properly?

Lockhart was about to improvise, to smooth over the awkwardness.

But the crowd chimed in with a singsong call:

“Yes, the great saviour, what will you do?”

“I always have to lug around books and cauldrons at school. It’s a pain. Legendary boy, got any solutions?”

Not only was Lockhart confused, but Harry’s face flushed crimson. He spotted Fred and George Weasley grinning in the crowd.

The script hadn’t included “saviour” or “legendary boy”!

But there was no turning back. Harry raised the black bag, reading his lines with stiff formality.

“No problem. I have this—the Shrinking Satchel. It can fit any number of books!”

He pulled out his wand, cast the Levitation Charm, and guided the books into the bag. He held the bag up to his chest, making sure everyone could see the logo in the corner.

“Tired of carrying heavy bags while travelling? Worried about your child’s burden at school? The Shrinking Satchel will solve your problems.”

“For details, visit shop xxx in Diagon Alley…”

Lockhart stared, stunned.

Was this boy… advertising his own product?

At Gilderoy Lockhart’s book signing?

Harry had turned the tables, flipped the script.

Lockhart had only wanted to ride Harry’s fame for his own publicity. How had it ended up like this?

Lockhart was bewildered, but others reacted quickly.

A Daily Prophet reporter, for instance, had gone into overdrive the moment Harry pulled out the satchel.

Lockhart selling a book was old news.

But Harry Potter advertising a product? That was headline-worthy.

This was real news!

Harry Potter was usually at school, and during holidays he stayed out of sight, rumoured to be studying hard.

How often did reporters get a chance like this?

“Who’s the genius who thought of using Harry Potter to advertise?”

The reporter muttered as he snapped photo after photo, capturing both Harry’s face and the satchel.

“L.G.?”

“A new workshop? Sounds interesting. Should I check out the shop Harry mentioned?”

“Wonder how much it costs. Things like Undetectable Extension Charms aren’t cheap…”

“No kidding. Only a few shops sell them, and they charge outrageous prices. Merlin’s pockets, those wizards are all heartless!”

The crowd buzzed with similar chatter, clearly interested in the Shrinking Satchel.

Harry struck a few more poses with the satchel, hoping for more impressive spells from Leonardo.

To avoid the next wave of autograph seekers, Leonardo had already moved with his aunt to a quieter corner of the shop.

“That boy is pretty famous in your world, isn’t he?” Penelope asked.

Leonardo wasn’t surprised by her question—judging by the crowd’s reaction, the answer was obvious.

“Yes,” he said with a small smile. “He’s like a celebrity in the wizarding world.”

Penelope nodded, understanding at once why Leonardo had chosen Harry to promote his product. She didn’t need to remind him about the importance of reciprocity in friendship; she trusted him to handle such things.

“Oh, that man, Lockhart. Are his adventures really as exciting as he says?”

Penelope’s question was loaded. Leonardo smiled.

“You saw through him, didn’t you?”

Penelope stroked the ring on her finger, her tone calm.

“He looks like a skilled writer, but he doesn’t have the aura of an adventurer. It’s hard to connect him with such thrilling stories, isn’t it?”

As the head of the Grafton family, her extensive experience gave her sharp insight into people.

Leonardo wasn’t surprised. Of course, his aunt could spot a fraud.

“Not like our little Leo, who’s not only handsome but also talented.”

“By the way, have you made any close friends at school, especially girls? Didn’t I send you some jewellery for them?”

“If not, you can meet the girls from the Campbell and Fitzgerald families over winter break. They’re…”

The topic changed so quickly that Leonardo couldn’t keep up.

…

“Aha, the great saviour has arrived.”

Draco Malfoy blocked Harry’s way, smirking for reasons unknown.

Harry didn’t bother to wonder. Draco was always like this.

“Malfoy, what do you want?”

Draco shrugged.

“Poor Potter, you didn’t have much fun over summer, did you? Now term’s almost here, and you finally made the news. How… envious…”

Harry frowned. After a summer without Leonardo’s presence, had Draco’s arrogance returned?

“What are you trying to say?”

Draco finally let his smirk show, pulling out a few moving magical photos and shoving them in front of Harry.

“Ha, cough, I went to my family’s dragon reserve with Leonardo this summer. There aren’t many photos. Help me pick the best one?”

Ginny, who had been about to defend Harry, stared blankly.

“?”

…

Blocked by Draco in Flourish and Blotts, Harry looked at the photos.

Most were of Leonardo and Draco, with several dragons—Ukrainian Ironbelly, Chinese Fireball, Welsh Green…

Before Harry could find the right words, Draco glanced at Ron, who had just arrived, and said lightly:

“Oh, the dragon reserve was fun. But guess who wasn’t invited?”

“You~”

Ginny was confused. According to her father, the Malfoys were bad, very bad.

But this young Draco seemed… not too clever.

Ron, arriving late, was completely lost. After a whispered explanation from his sister, he understood.

Draco looked at Ron and Ginny’s red hair, remembering that their father, Arthur Weasley, had recently used his job as an excuse to raid their house.

He sneered.

“But a trip like that costs money. Maybe some people should spend theirs on textbooks and wands. Of course, I mean second-hand ones.”

Ron was about to throw down his books and confront Draco.

But Harry suddenly cut in.

“Malfoy, did Leonardo visit your house this summer?”

Draco answered instinctively.

“No… cough, invitations between nobles are formal and dignified. The process…”

After attending Leonardo’s birthday party, Draco had learned the Grafton name’s status in the Muggle world. He knew Leonardo was a noble and treated him accordingly.

But before Draco could boast about noble etiquette, Harry interrupted.

“Oh, Leonardo visited my house, and Ron’s too. I think visiting friends is more meaningful than going to a dragon reserve, don’t you agree?”

Draco was speechless. He’d lost to Harry, even fallen behind the red-haired Weasleys?

Suddenly, a large hand rested on Draco’s shoulder.

“Mr Potter,” Lucius Malfoy drawled as he stepped forward. “We finally meet.”

He took Harry’s hand, pulling him close to examine the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. “Truly a legendary mark,” he murmured before releasing him. His gaze then drifted toward the Muggle-born girl and the Weasley children, his expression shifting to disdain—only to pause as a striking youth approached.

Those distinctive emerald eyes made Lucius recognise him at once.

Leonardo Grafton.

Lucius had met Leonardo once before, when Draco was injured at Hogwarts. He’d sensed the boy’s talent then. Meeting again after nearly a year, his sharpened intuition told him Leonardo’s aura was deeper, yet well-concealed.

He trusted this family trait, honed by generations.

Lucius shook Leonardo’s hand, this time with mature elegance, fitting of a noble.

“Thank you for your help with Draco. It’s the boy’s good fortune to have your friendship.”

Leonardo replied politely.

“Draco’s foundations are solid, thanks to excellent family education.”

At the same time, Leonardo’s pupils swirled with a faint black vortex, his gaze flicking to Lucius’s side.

That cold, sinister magic…

A Horcrux.

Lucius ignored the Muggle-born and the poor pure-bloods, exchanged a few pleasantries with Leonardo, then led Draco toward the back of the shop.

As Lucius and Leonardo passed each other, a faint glow flashed from Leonardo’s sleeve. An invisible mark settled on the diary in Lucius’s pocket.

Lucius noticed nothing unusual.

Leonardo chatted with Harry, learning about the incident, and shook his head in amusement.

Just children.

After parting ways, Leonardo took his aunt for a stroll around Diagon Alley, picking up a new broom to experiment with alchemical devices. He sent her home, saying he had a few things to do and would follow later.

During this time, Leonardo kept sensing the magical mark he’d left on the diary—it still lingered inside Flourish and Blotts. Then, abruptly, it began to move.

He turned a few corners and soon sensed the magic nearby. Lifting his head, he caught sight of the figure holding it—and froze.

A flamboyant blond man. Gilderoy Lockhart.

Wait. How had the diary ended up with him?

According to the original story, Lucius was supposed to give the diary to Ginny Weasley, triggering the crisis of the following year. Leonardo had planned to wait until then, intercept it quietly. But a sudden inspiration had struck—a feeling that this deviation might yield something unexpected. So he’d placed a tracking mark just in case.

He hadn’t expected it to lead him here.

Was this the world correcting itself? Did the disaster have to find its way to Hogwarts?

No. The diary was Voldemort’s first Horcrux—his fragment of soul. And Lockhart… Lockhart had just been appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

Voldemort’s curse on the position… the cursed and the curser meeting by chance?

A magical coincidence—or perhaps something far more deliberate.

Across the street, Lockhart had no idea he was being watched. He was practically glowing with excitement, clutching the diary as though it were a holy relic. In his mind, he could already see the headlines.

A priceless treasure! A magnificent discovery! If he wrote about it, it would be his greatest work yet.

A faint, seductive whisper curled around his thoughts:

You will become the most famous wizard… a true celebrity… with endless wealth and glory…

Lockhart’s eyes gleamed. His heart quickened.

Go… go to Hogwarts… and you will have everything you desire…

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 177

Chapter 177: Borgin and Burkes, Whipping with Iodine for Disinfection

Borgin and Burkes.

It was the largest shop in Knockturn Alley, specialising in dark magical items. Some of its merchandise was downright dangerous. Mr Borgin, the owner, not only sold these objects but also collected all manner of strange and sinister artefacts.

In a dark corner, a large black cabinet stood half-open.

Harry was crouched inside, feeling thoroughly miserable. He’d had rotten luck these past few days.

Thanks to Leonardo, his aunt’s family had become much kinder. They fed him, gave him drinks, and mostly left him alone. He preferred it that way—no one bothered him, and he could read his magical books in peace, getting ahead on the homework Leonardo had set.

Compared to how things used to be, this was paradise.

Thinking of Leonardo, Harry couldn’t help but envy him. Both had lost their parents, but Leonardo had an aunt who clearly adored him. Harry found that oddly comforting.

Everything had been going smoothly until a few days ago, when a house-elf named Dobby appeared out of nowhere.

Stealing his letters was bad enough, but then Dobby had dropped an entire cake on Uncle Vernon’s guest’s head.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were furious, but thanks to the “pressure” Leonardo had put on them, they couldn’t punish Harry.

Harry had even overheard Vernon plotting to board up his window.

Harry had grown increasingly anxious, longing for the start of term. Luckily, before Vernon could act, Ron and the twins arrived to rescue him.

The look on his relatives’ faces as they waved him off was as if they were bidding farewell to a plague carrier.

Harry didn’t care. The thought of returning to Hogwarts made him giddy.

He’d spent a wonderful, carefree time at the Weasleys’. The only downside was that Leonardo had left just before Harry arrived.

Harry had planned to come to Diagon Alley with the Weasleys, but his first attempt at Floo Powder had gone awry. Instead of arriving at the Leaky Cauldron, he’d landed in this strange, terrifying shop.

Good grief, what kind of things did this place sell?

Shriveled hands, blood-stained playing cards, glass eyeballs…

Some of them were even displayed on cushions inside glass cases!

Surely these couldn’t be valuable. They were just creepy.

Harry peered through the cabinet’s gap and watched Draco Malfoy and a man who looked just like Lucius Malfoy talking with the shopkeeper, Mr Borgin.

Finally, Borgin saw the Malfoys out, closed the door, and began muttering to himself.

“Tch… sales… less than half…”

Harry waited, hoping for a chance to slip out.

Just as he reached for the cabinet door—

Creak.

The shop door opened again. A voice called out.

“Mr Borgin, I’ve brought the final products. Once you’ve examined them, we can finalise the contract, yes?”

Harry’s ears pricked up. That voice sounded familiar.

He saw Borgin quickly smooth his greasy hair and adopt a servile tone.

“Mr Grafton, seeing you is like seeing sunlight and fortune itself. I can already taste the pleasure of our cooperation…”

The door swung open, and Harry caught sight of that familiar dark gold hair and those deep green eyes.

Leonardo?

What was he doing here?

Borgin’s attitude toward Leonardo was even more obsequious than it had been toward the Malfoys. Why?

Harry watched as Borgin led Leonardo to a seat, offering tea and biscuits.

Leonardo waved a hand, and several small items appeared on the table: bracelets, necklaces, buttons.

Borgin slipped on a monocle covered in mechanical gears and began inspecting each piece with care.

“Oh, your craftsmanship is as exquisite as ever. No, even better than last time. I find it hard to believe someone so young can achieve such mastery in alchemy. Has Hogwarts improved its alchemy programme?”

“Tell me your thoughts,” Leonardo said, cutting off the praise.

Borgin cleared his throat and began outlining his opinions.

“These alchemical devices are fixed with various magical effects. The most useful is the automatic Protego amulet. It greatly increases a wizard’s survivability. Naturally, the price should reflect that…”

Harry understood that Leonardo was negotiating a partnership—Borgin would sell the alchemical devices, which had impressive effects. But the details, the haggling, left Harry’s head spinning.

Just as Harry was starting to feel his legs go numb, Leonardo and Borgin wrapped up their discussion.

Harry bent down to rub his legs, then noticed Leonardo suddenly look his way.

Instinctively, Harry tensed.

But Leonardo raised a hand and beckoned him over.

Harry hesitated. Why should he be nervous? He pushed the cabinet door open and stepped out.

“Who are you?” Borgin asked sharply, his eyes turning suspicious.

“He’s a friend of mine,” Leonardo said smoothly. “We were playing hide-and-seek, and he somehow ended up here. No harm done?”

Borgin’s expression immediately softened, and he smiled at Harry.

“No problem, no problem, young man. But next time, don’t hide here. The things in my shop are for adults. They can be dangerous for children. For example, that opal necklace beside you has already claimed the lives of nineteen Muggles.”

Harry shuddered and took a few steps away, moving behind Leonardo.

Borgin’s sudden change in attitude was simple: Leonardo was a major client, and his alchemical items were of the highest quality. If Borgin could keep Leonardo’s business, it meant a steady new stream of income.

Why didn’t Borgin try to use underhanded means to seize Leonardo’s treasures, despite his youth and obvious wealth?

A shiver ran through Borgin’s body as he remembered the screams that had echoed through Knockturn Alley just days before.

He decided not to worry about the boy who had appeared out of nowhere, covered in soot, his face smudged with grime—nothing like the legendary Boy Who Lived.

After Borgin courteously ushered them out, Harry followed Leonardo. Outside was a filthy alley, lined with shops selling dark magic items.

A few ragged witches and wizards saw them and immediately ducked away.

An old witch who had been facing the opposite direction turned, dropped a tray of what looked like severed fingernails, and fled without a backward glance. Her speed was shockingly agile for her age.

Harry knew those people weren’t afraid of him. They were afraid of…

He glanced at Leonardo beside him.

“This is Knockturn Alley,” Leonardo explained casually. “It sells dark magical items. It’s best not to come here alone without an adult wizard.”

Harry nodded vigorously. The atmosphere made his skin crawl.

But he was curious. Why had those people run at the sight of Leonardo?

Leonardo saw Harry’s soot-stained face and pulled out his wand.

“Scourgify. Reparo.”

Harry instantly transformed from a grimy coal ball into the clean-cut Boy Who Lived, his cracked glasses mended.

Now free of soot, Leonardo noticed Harry’s cheeks were rosy, no longer as pale and thin as they had been last year.

Ah, the Dursleys hadn’t dared to starve him again.

They hadn’t gone far before Harry heard a series of sharp cracking sounds. He looked back at Borgin and Burkes, but saw nothing unusual.

Curiosity got the better of him.

“Leonardo, why did those people run when they saw us come out?”

He remembered the old witch most vividly—she’d looked ancient, yet her escape had been lightning fast, as if fleeing from something terrifying.

Leonardo put his wand away and spoke calmly.

“I’ve had run-ins here with thieves, robbers, fraudsters… even someone who tried to curse me with dark magic.”

Harry tensed, imagining himself in Leonardo’s place.

But Leonardo’s expression remained serene, suggesting the danger had passed without incident.

“Leonardo, you weren’t hurt, were you?” Harry asked, concerned. “Did you remember what they looked like? Should we report them to the Ministry?”

Leonardo shook his head.

“I’m fine. As for their appearance…”

He pointed up at the sky.

Harry looked up and saw seven or eight ragged figures hanging upside down, suspended as if by invisible chains, forming a cross shape.

Their eyes were closed, their necks and bodies caked with blood, torn clothes revealing raw wounds.

But their faces were clean and unmarked, as if the blood stopped before it could touch their skin.

Harry finally understood the source of the cracking sounds.

Several whips hovered around the figures, lashing out and producing the noise.

He noticed a transparent barrier below, preventing blood from dripping onto the street.

Strangely, Harry found the scene almost… considerate?

Remembering the earlier conversation and Borgin’s reaction to Leonardo…

Harry realised the people who had tried to cheat, rob, or curse Leonardo were now hanging here, receiving their punishment.

The residents of Knockturn Alley had watched this spectacle and understood Leonardo’s methods and the consequences of crossing him.

So when they saw Leonardo, they fled like criminals fleeing the law.

“Knockturn Alley is dangerous. The people here aren’t friendly…”

Leonardo chuckled.

“Some are driven by greed and attack me directly. Others…”

He nodded toward Borgin and Burkes.

“Others are secretly encouraged by people like Borgin.”

Harry frowned.

“But why did you still do business with him?”

Leonardo’s tone was calm.

“Give someone a stick, then a carrot. They’ll be more loyal and efficient.”

“That man has connections in this alley. He’s useful.”

Harry looked up at the figures again.

“Did you hang them close to Borgin and Burkes on purpose?”

Leonardo nodded.

“Yes. I wanted him to hear. Closer is better.”

Harry stared at the suspended figures. Even as the whips cracked, they made no sound. He suddenly thought of something.

“Leonardo, they seem… quiet.”

Harry was trying to say they might be dead.

Leonardo didn’t look up, his confidence unshaken.

“Don’t worry. The whips are filled with healing potion. It seeps out every so often, so they won’t actually die.”

“The healing potion’s been improved. It’s quite effective. Want to learn how to make it next term?”

Harry nodded instinctively, eager to learn a new potion.

But the idea of whipping someone while simultaneously healing them—was this genius or madness? Harry was momentarily speechless.

“Do you feel sorry for them?” Leonardo asked.

Harry shook his head, his voice soft but firm.

“No. If you hadn’t subdued them, they wouldn’t have hesitated to hurt you. Magic and power are important.”

Over the past year, Harry had seen Leonardo defeat Quirrell and Voldemort, and watched him use wealth and influence to keep his relatives in line.

He understood now that whether in the wizarding world or the Muggle world, having enough “power” was essential—not to bully others, but to protect oneself from being bullied.

Leonardo was pleased with Harry’s response. A child who had experienced hardship was unlikely to become a soft-hearted pushover.

Dumbledore was trying to build Harry’s courage and resolve, but he had never demanded that he be a saint.

A saviour who could stand up to and defeat Voldemort could be kind, could be gentle, but never weak. Never one to pity those who did not deserve it.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 176

Chapter 176: Upgrading the Flying Car, Luna

The shed at the Burrow smelled of oil, old metal, and the faint tang of spellwork settling into place.

“Leonardo, Muggles have a box that makes ice all on its own,” Mr Weasley said, half-buried in the engine bay as he tinkered. “No Freezing Charm at all. It’s marvellous. Have they shut a small, docile frost sprite inside it? Does it need feeding?”

“There isn’t a frost sprite in it,” Leonardo said, leaning in to get a better look at the wiring. “The principle is more like…”

Arthur Weasley asked questions the way other people breathed. Leonardo answered the best he could, translating Muggle technology into magical terms without turning it into nonsense. It was oddly calming, in a way that made the hours pass too quickly.

“And the Muggles also have something that doesn’t use owls,” Mr Weasley continued, eyes shining as he pulled out a piece, checked it, and swapped it for an alchemical component. “They press a few buttons and can speak to someone far away. What on earth is that?”

“A mobile phone,” Leonardo said, then paused as his mind wandered.

The wizarding world still relied on letters and owls for most communication. Why not build something faster?

If a long-range voice-transmission charm could be stabilised, then image transmission would not be far behind. The principles were close enough that solving one would likely solve the other.

It really was different, the way magic progressed compared to Muggle technology. Muggles needed several leaps of engineering to go from sound to images. Magic could skip the staircase entirely and simply step across.

If the costs could be controlled, a widely affordable magical communication device would almost certainly sell well.

Owls might complain, of course. Then again, there would always be parcels, deliveries, and the sort of post that deserved talons and attitude.

Leonardo set the idea aside for later and returned his attention to the job in front of him.

Mr Weasley had invited him to look over a car. It had once been a rusty old Muggle vehicle, but Arthur clearly intended to give it a touch of wizarding ingenuity.

“Oh, flying is so convenient,” Mr Weasley muttered, as if this were an obvious truth the world was being stubborn about. “Why don’t Muggles add that function to their cars?”

Leonardo’s mouth twitched. The word for a flying Muggle vehicle was aeroplane, but he decided it was safer not to derail Arthur’s joy.

Arthur dismantled the car’s structure with surprising confidence, stripping out bulky, useless components and replacing them with alchemical parts. He flicked his wand now and then, laying spell patterns into the metal like stitches.

“Ron told me you’ve started studying alchemy,” he said, in a casual tone, as though it weren’t wildly impressive. “So I thought you might find this interesting. And—well—I really must thank you for helping Ron with his studies. That boy used to give me a bit of a headache…”

Leonardo made a few careful adjustments as Arthur asked, and listened to the comfortable rhythm of family chatter.

“Work’s been busy lately,” Arthur went on. “We’ve been raiding homes, confiscating enchanted objects. I’m in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, you see. We’re meant to stop people putting magic on Muggle-made things, in case they end up back with Muggles…”

Leonardo’s hands paused.

Something about that sounded… off.

He stared at the car, which had already been altered beyond recognition, and fell into a thoughtful silence.

So he enforced the law against this exact thing. And he was currently doing this exact thing. In his own shed.

Leonardo glanced around. The place was stacked with Muggle items, and most of them looked as though they had been “blessed” by wizarding experimentation at least once.

Does he never invite colleagues home? Leonardo wondered. Wouldn’t someone arrest him on the spot and call it a career-defining achievement?

“Feels like it’s still missing something,” Mr Weasley said, rubbing his chin as he admired the near-finished car.

Leonardo considered it, then offered the obvious, kind warning.

“A Disillusionment Charm, perhaps? Muggle cars don’t normally fly.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you, Leonardo,” Arthur said, clapping his hands once, delighted, and immediately diving back into work.

Leonardo stayed to help. After Arthur added the Disillusionment Charm, Leonardo etched a small array into the spellwork, subtle enough not to interfere, but precise enough to be reliable.

“Leonardo, what’s that?” Arthur asked, blinking at the runes. “I don’t think I follow.”

“It’s an array for automatically triggering a charm,” Leonardo said. “I’ve set it so that once the car begins flying, it switches into Disillusionment automatically. It stops Muggles from seeing it. Otherwise, you’d have to remember every time, and that gets troublesome.”

Arthur slapped a hand to his forehead, suddenly looking as though the answer had been hiding in plain sight.

“You’re right. That’s it exactly. Honestly—quick minds, you young people."

As Leonardo turned to leave the shed, Arthur hurried after him, dropping his voice.

“Leonardo, one more thing. Don’t mention the car to Molly. She doesn’t like me fiddling with this sort of thing.”

Leonardo nodded to show he understood.

No worries. Even if he said nothing, the Boy Who Lived would be sitting in this very flying car soon enough.

…

Leonardo knocked lightly on Ginny’s bedroom door.

Ginger the Niffler had been on loan to her for days now. Leonardo was heading home to prepare for the start of term, and he needed the little thief back before it decided to empty the entire Weasley household into its pockets.

Click.

The door opened.

But it was not Ginny standing there.

It was a girl Leonardo did not recognise, with pale skin and light eyebrows, moon-bright silver eyes, and dark golden-brown hair. Her eyes were a touch prominent, giving her the permanent look of someone mildly surprised by the universe.

She wore radish-shaped earrings and a necklace strung with Butterbeer corks.

That distinctive style…

Leonardo had never met this floaty-looking girl, but he had a strong suspicion.

“Ah, Leonardo.”

Ginny appeared behind her, scooping Ginger up into her arms as she introduced the stranger.

“This is Luna,” Ginny said. “Luna Lovegood.”

She glanced at Leonardo. “Her family lives in the village too — they’re our neighbours.”

“And her father is the editor of The Quibbler. It’s a magazine that records… rare things.”

Leonardo studied the girl. Ah, so this was Luna.

People said she could see things others could not. Whether that was true or not was another question. Thestrals, at least, were real. It was just that people who had never seen death could not see them.

“Hello, Luna. I’m Leonardo, Leonardo Grafton,” he said.

Luna did not react to the introduction in any normal way. She simply stared at him, silver eyes empty, as though she were looking through him rather than at him.

The silence stretched.

Ginny shifted awkwardly.

Then Luna spoke, her voice dreamy and distant.

“You’re very special.”

…

“Special?”

Leonardo blinked. They had met for the first time, and she was already offering strange verdicts like she was reading the weather.

Keeping his tone gentle, he asked, “Luna, why do you think I’m special?”

Luna tilted her head, gaze drifting over him as if tracing outlines only she could see.

“Well… you don’t have a single Wrackspurt around you,” she said, sounding sincerely amazed. “It’s incredible. I’ve never seen that before.”

“Wrackspurt?”

Leonardo remembered Luna’s nickname at Hogwarts. Loony Lovegood.

Seeing things no one else could, speaking as though the world ran on slightly different logic. It was hard to tell which trait caused the other.

Wrackspurts were probably one of those creatures only Luna, and her father, could see.

Luna nodded and stepped closer, lifting both hands and fanning the air kindly beside Leonardo’s ears, as if shooing away invisible insects.

“Mm. Wrackspurts. They’re invisible. They float into your ears and muddle your brain.”

She frowned, puzzled in a way that looked almost childlike.

“It’s strange. You were clearly wondering just now, but you still didn’t attract any.”

Luna then reached to her own ear, pinching thumb and forefinger together as though she had caught something tiny.

“See? Even if I bring a Wrackspurt over to you, it will choose to leave. All by itself.”

Luna held her pinched fingers out in front of him, presenting the “Wrackspurt” with quiet confidence.

Leonardo’s eyes darkened. A slow black vortex turned in his pupils as Magic Sight opened.

There was nothing.

No trace of magic, no residue, no disturbance at all. Luna really was…

“But there are lots of other things around you,” Luna continued calmly. “So many. And they’re so odd. I’ve never seen them before. Like… like…”

She searched for the words, then landed on them with unsettling precision.

“Like they came from another world.”

Leonardo’s vortex froze mid-turn.

For a heartbeat, the air felt tighter.

Another world?

His soul had crossed into this body. If anything could be called from another world, it was him.

And she said there were lots of other things around him. Things that came with him?

Leonardo narrowed his eyes, equal parts wary and curious.

He was on the verge of asking what, exactly, she could see.

“Eh?” Luna suddenly exclaimed. “They’re gone. All of them. Whoosh. Gone at once.”

Colour and motion flickered in her previously empty gaze. She circled Leonardo, searching, as though the “things” had slipped behind him like shy animals.

“They’re all gone,” she said, peering up at him. “Did you eat them?”

Leonardo did not have an answer for that. Luna’s mental leaps were not the sort a normal person could politely chase.

He glanced at Ginny, who looked utterly lost.

Not now. Another time. He would speak to this Ravenclaw-to-be properly when there was space for it.

“Ginny, I’ll be going,” Leonardo said, taking Jinji back into his arms. “I need to get home for dinner. And, by the way, this Niffler is adorable, but it’s a bit on the plump side. Maybe don’t stuff its pockets quite so much?”

“See you at Hogwarts, Leonardo,” Ginny said.

Luna skipped away before Leonardo could respond.

Leonardo frowned slightly and looked down at Ginger.

Plump?

No. It was perfect.

Cute, even.

…

A few days later, Diagon Alley.

“Aunt, that’s Gringotts,” Leonardo said, guiding Penelope through the bustling street. “It’s the wizarding bank, and it’s considered the second safest place in the world, after Hogwarts.”

He pointed a little further along.

“And that’s Ollivanders. My wand came from there. They’ve been making wands for more than two thousand years.”

He gestured to a shop filled with cages and hooting.

“And that one is Eeylops Owl Emporium. Didn’t you say you wanted an owl as a pet?”

Leonardo took Aunt Penelope on a proper tour of the wizarding marketplace. It was all new to her, and she looked around with bright, curious eyes, asking questions about the objects in the windows, and the peculiar things witches and wizards treated as ordinary.

It was the back-to-school season again. Young witches and wizards filled the street, some with parents, some with professors, all shopping for supplies.

Leonardo was entering his second year. Beyond the new textbooks, he did not need much.

Second year did not add more classes compared to first year. If anything, it removed flying lessons, though the remaining lessons ran longer.

“Leonardo!”

A delighted voice called from nearby.

Hermione Granger hurried over, her bushy brown hair bouncing with every step. She greeted Leonardo first, then turned to Penelope and greeted her politely, careful and composed in that way Hermione became when she very much wanted to be seen as mature.

Hermione had met Penelope once before, at Leonardo’s birthday party, but she still could not help thinking the same thing.

Leonardo’s aunt was stunning.

And Hermione had learned something else at that party too. Leonardo’s background was far more prominent than she had ever imagined. In the Muggle world, it was the sort of family you did not simply “bump into”.

Yet Penelope’s manner was gentle, and she didn’t carry herself as if she were above anyone, nothing like those dreadful pure-blood aristocrats in the wizarding world.

It made Hermione quietly relieved. Combined with how approachable Leonardo always was, it felt like proof of excellent upbringing.

At the same time, Hermione had learned, as everyone had, that Leonardo’s parents had died early. Leonardo had never spoken about it, and his steadiness, his maturity, suddenly felt different in hindsight.

People who were strong all the time, Hermione thought, might still have soft and fragile places they kept hidden.

Hermione chatted with Leonardo about her summer, while Penelope watched with an amused smile that missed nothing.

With her experience, it wasn’t hard to see what was happening. And it wasn’t just Hermione—there was also that blonde girl Leonardo had invited, the one with the surname Greengrass.

Penelope didn’t care if Leonardo married a witch or not, as long as he loved the person.

After a short conversation, the three of them headed into Flourish and Blotts together.

“Big news!”

A voice boomed over the crowd, repeated again and again with breathless enthusiasm.

“Internationally renowned author. Recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class. Five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award. Honorary member of the Dark Force Defence League. Bestselling author of Break with a Banshee, Voyages with Vampires, Travels with Trolls, and more…”

“Gilderoy Lockhart!”

“In half an hour, Mr Lockhart will be signing books right here. Please purchase Mr Lockhart’s works and queue in advance.”

“We will draw one lucky reader for a photo opportunity with Mr Lockhart…”

Leonardo raised an eyebrow.

So. The future Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had arrived.

A man with a mountain of titles and a hollow core. A fraud who stole others’ achievements, then used a Memory Charm to wipe the truth clean.

Still, that Memory Charm was genuinely master-level. If there was a chance, it would be worth learning.

When Penelope began chatting with Hermione’s parents, Leonardo found an excuse to step away.

There were partnerships he had discussed days ago, and now it was time to finalise them.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 175

Chapter 175: The Twins’ Prank, Working for Leonardo

The Burrow.

Leonardo sat at the long dining table with several members of the Weasley family, plates already loaded with generous portions.

“Here, dear, try a bit more of this,” Molly Weasley said, smiling warmly.

Her spoon moved of its own accord and deposited a hefty scoop of stew onto Leonardo’s plate. She watched him with the kind of earnest attention that made it impossible to pretend you were full.

“Does it suit your taste, child?”

Leonardo swallowed the rich, tender mouthful and looked up with genuine appreciation.

“Mrs Weasley, this is delicious. Properly satisfying.”

It was not politeness. Molly managed a huge household day after day with magic, and her cooking might not have restaurant finesse, but it carried something better. It tasted like home, simple and warm, the sort of food that made you loosen your shoulders without realising.

“Oh, I’m so glad you like it!”

Molly practically beamed.

Across the table, one of the twins had a pea poised between finger and thumb, lining up a shot at Ron’s nose. Molly’s gaze snapped over. The pea never flew.

Lunch carried on in a cheerful, easy rhythm: plates clinking, laughter breaking out, Ginny quiet but watchful, Ron eating like he had been starved for weeks.

Leonardo’s gaze drifted now and then to the clock on the wall.  

It wasn’t a clock for telling time. Nine hands, each tipped with a tiny Weasley face, pointed not to numbers but to words. Most rested on Home.  

Only Arthur’s hand sat at Work, while Bill’s and Charlie’s were elsewhere, just as expected.  

The other labels were… intriguing.  
School. Dentist. Quidditch Match. Missing.  
Prison.  

Leonardo kept his expression politely neutral, though a remark itched to escape. Instead, he studied the clock with quiet, focused curiosity.

An alchemical device, without a doubt. Contract magic woven into the family itself. Become a Weasley, and you earn a hand. Elegant, practical — unmistakably Weasley.

He would love to take it apart with his mind and rebuild it.

And these days, materials were no longer the problem.

Nicolas had gifted him a birthday bundle so absurdly generous it bordered on indecent, rare stock, deep reserves, and, more importantly, vetted supply lines that made future procurement painless. If Flamel approved a supplier, the quality would be worth trusting.

After lunch, Fred and George invited Leonardo upstairs.

They moved with him, one on each side, shepherding him toward their room like a ceremonial guard.

Ron trailed behind, alert and wary. The twins wore that particular expression everyone in the house recognised, the one that promised “surprise” in the most threateningly cheerful way possible.

“We hope you like it here,” the twins said together.

“We’ve prepared a special Weasley welcome for you.”

They exchanged a look and stepped back, expectant.

Leonardo’s intuition gave a small, polite cough in the back of his mind. He smiled anyway and stepped over the threshold.

A water jug above the doorway tipped.

But what poured out was not water. A beam of light, sharp and eager, streaked down, aimed straight for his hair, the sort of curse designed to humiliate rather than hurt.

It never reached him.

A faint shimmer ran over the surface of a button on his coat, and the beam bent aside at the last instant.

Snap.

It struck one of the twins squarely. Red hair flashed and turned a bright, luminous green.

In the corner of Ron’s vision, the other twin made a distressed noise that sounded an awful lot like laughter.

Before anyone could comment, the second trap triggered.

A broom that had been propped behind the door shot forward, sweeping for Leonardo’s shins with the vicious dedication of a professional leg-breaker.

Leonardo did not even turn his head.

A thin silver bracelet at his wrist glinted once.

The broom hit something invisible and springy, rebounded with a dull thump, and tumbled into the corner where it began to twitch as if offended.

Two or three seconds. That was all.

Leonardo’s pace never changed, as if he had merely walked past a drafty stairwell.

Ron watched from behind with wide eyes, admiration and envy tangling together in his chest. In this house, Ron was always the first victim. The twins did not pick on Ginny much, so their creativity had to go somewhere.

Unfortunately, Ron’s face was the usual landing spot.

“Ha,” Ron said, and then coughed as he tried not to sound too delighted. “George, your hair’s green.”

“Ronnie,” said the green-haired twin with dignity, “you’ve got it wrong. I’m Fred.”

The other twin whistled innocently.

“Oh? If you’re Fred, then who am I?”

They teetered on the edge of a familiar argument.

Leonardo flicked his wand. The green vanished from the twin’s hair as neatly as if it had never existed.

Then he went straight to business.

“I need a favour,” he said. “I’ve got some small items. Once term starts, can you help me sell them?”

He produced several alchemical gadgets, student-friendly pieces, practical, amusing, and safe enough to circulate around Hogwarts without drawing the wrong sort of attention.

The more serious defensive items were for another market entirely.

Fred and George exchanged another look, interest sharpening. They had noticed the way those protective trinkets had triggered without any spoken spell, and they were not the sort to let something like that pass uninvestigated.

“Right,” one of them said slowly, “these are brilliant.”

“But,” the other added, leaning in, “have you got anything that’s more…”

“More for cheering people up,” the first finished, straight-faced.

Leonardo held back the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Prank items. They meant prank items.

He had expected that.

“All right,” he said, and pulled out another handful of potions and alchemical tools. Then he opened a little box.

Inside sat a yellow hard sweet dusted with sugar.

“Lemon Sherbets,” he said, pointing at it. “A Transfiguration-based potion in confectionery form. It causes a degree of transformation in the eater. Flavour and appearance can be adjusted.”

He paused, letting the bait dangle.

“If you want the exact effect, try it.”

The twins lit up like someone had handed them a holiday.

One picked up the sweet, turning it between finger and thumb. “I am curious about the taste…”

The other drifted sideways, very casually, toward Ron.

Ron, who had been watching with wary fascination, barely had time to register danger before an arm hooked around him.

His cheeks were squeezed. His mouth was forced open.

The sweet went straight down his throat.

Ron’s eyes bulged.

“You…”

Ginny’s voice sounded from the doorway, perfectly timed.

“Mum sent me to bring you some tea and biscuits…”

Ron’s face contorted as the transformation took hold.

“Ahh! Mum!” Ginny shrieked, on cue. “George has a bear!”

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 174

Chapter 174: Vitality Renewed Potion, Visiting the Burrow

The faint white beam of light dispersed.

Maxime and Fleur stepped out and walked toward a carriage. The horses drawing it were enormous, their coats a gleaming gold with silver manes, their eyes a fierce red, each as big as an elephant. They were Abraxans, a branch of winged horse.

Once they were seated, Maxime could see the discouragement Fleur was trying to hide. She soothed her gently.

“This is not your fault. We came too late.”

Fleur steadied herself and lifted her chin again, regaining her usual confidence.

“Mr Flamel finding a student he likes is a good thing. But that boy… he did not look very old.”

Maxime glanced at the ground dropping away outside the window.

“He did look young. Still in school, most likely. If not Hogwarts, then Durmstrang…”

She turned her head slightly.

“What, you want to meet him?”

Fleur did not deny it. She truly did want to see for herself what kind of prodigy could be accepted as Nicolas Flamel’s final student.

Maxime patted Fleur’s head with a warm, reassuring hand.

“There will be a chance. He will be an exceptional young wizard, and he is very likely to take part in that old tournament.”

“And since that is the case, preparations can begin early…”

…

After seeing Maxime and Fleur off, Nicolas rubbed his stiff neck and sighed.

“Even older…”

To be fair, that girl, Fleur Delacour, was excellent. She really was suited to the path of alchemy.

If Nicolas had not met Leonardo, he might well have been tempted.

But there were no ifs. As he taught Leonardo formally, Nicolas became more and more certain he had chosen correctly.

Leonardo’s ability to learn was astonishing, and he had absorbed an immense amount from him.

“Master, Mr Leonardo left some things in his room, and a letter,” Kewby said, Apparating to Nicolas’ side with his usual respectful precision.

“Oh?”

Leonardo had not mentioned it at all. Nicolas crossed to the room at once.

Two crystal vials sat on the desk, along with a thick pile of papers.

With a gesture, Nicolas summoned the letter that had been pinned beneath the vials.

“Teacher, these papers contain some aerospace materials from an Eastern European country before it fell apart. My family collected them bit by bit, and I thought they might offer a few grains of reference for your great endeavour…”

Reading Leonardo’s handwriting, Nicolas’ brow jumped. He had not expected his student to leave a gift like this.

He read on.

“Teacher, what is sealed inside the crystal vials is a potion I have only just succeeded in developing. Vitality Renewed. It can replenish life force. I hope you and Mistress enjoy it…”

The parchment trembled sharply between Nicolas’ fingers.

For a moment, he almost thought his ancient eyes had finally begun to play tricks on him after six hundred years.

Replenish life force.

Five simple words, spoken lightly, yet heavy enough to shake a heart that had endured centuries.

Nicolas knew Leonardo’s temperament. The boy was not one for empty boasting.

He set the letter down, unable to stop himself as he moved closer to the desk.

With every step, a craving that had long been silent stirred deep in his decayed bones, waking softly, calling to him without sound.

He reached out with a withered, wrinkled hand and lifted one crystal vial. His fingers shook as he eased the stopper free.

At once, a clean fragrance spilled out, like grass after rainfall, fresh and bright.

Then something vast yet intangible rippled from the mouth of the vial, like a living tide. Even the still air seemed to draw breath.

Nicolas inhaled deeply, hungrily. Every dried-out cell in his body seemed to cry out and sing, as if it had caught the scent of life itself—the sweet, dreamlike essence it could never forget.

He didn’t even need to taste it.

Nicolas could tell at once that this potion would do exactly what Leonardo claimed.

Life force. Abundant life force.

“That boy… what exactly…”

His bony fingers tightened around the crystal vial.

He had, truly, accepted everything that came with age. He had learned to remain optimistic even inside a fragile shell.

But who could truly forget the days of strength and overflowing energy?

His and Perenelle’s bodies had grown frighteningly old.

Their bones were as brittle as dead branches. One wrong move and something could crack. Even normal eating had become a luxury. They relied on specially prepared liquids.

It meant Kewby’s inherited culinary skill, passed down since his great-grandfather, a mastery that could put many famous chefs to shame, had nowhere to go.

Leonardo’s arrival had brought more life into this place and had given Kewby a chance to shine again.

Nicolas suddenly remembered a dinner one night, when he had joked that watching a young man eat with such appetite made even his own stomach feel livelier.

At the time, Leonardo had worn a thoughtful look.

Lowering his gaze, Nicolas noticed a final line written small at the bottom of the letter.

“Teacher, Kewby’s cooking is superb, and he also regrets that he cannot serve you and Mistress the delicious food his elders once could.

“And a body full of vitality might be better suited to exploring the wonders of the world.”

Those last words made Nicolas murmur softly.

“The wonders of the world…”

Then he laughed, loud and open.

“Ha ha ha ha ha…”

“Cough, cough, cough…”

…

Nicolas rarely laughed like that. Even when it tugged at his ruined lungs and set off a harsh fit of coughing, he did not care.

The next moment, he tipped his head back and drank the vial in one go.

In an instant, a surging yet unbelievably gentle vitality bloomed in his stomach, like a warm wave washing over the marks that time had carved into his body.

…

Elsewhere, Leonardo was considering how to arrange the rest of the summer.

Right — by now, his teacher should’ve seen what he’d left behind.  

Muggle aerospace technology was a world apart from magic, but even a spark of inspiration would be enough.  

Good thing he’d asked his aunt to keep an eye on that side — a small “inheritance” was already in place.

“Thanks for the hard work, Aurelius.”

Leonardo rubbed the shrunken Aurelius, curled in his arms. To brew Vitality Renewed, the little Qilin had contributed a bit of blood.

“Master, can I eat more sweets?” Aurelius asked. “The ones from Headmaster Grandfather, lemon sherbets, Liquorice Wands, Cockroach Clusters…”

Hearing the little Qilin list them like a menu, Leonardo shook his head helplessly, but still pulled out a large handful of sweets.

“A little of each. Do not eat too much, or you will get toothache. That hurts.”

The little Qilin probably didn’t get cavities, but it was still worth warning. Scaring children was oddly entertaining.

“Heh heh, all right, Master.”

Aurelius nuzzled against him, then sprang up and snatched the sweets away.

After his Potions aptitude improved, and after reading a great many Potions texts in Nicolas’ library, Leonardo could now brew potions that truly used Qilin blood.

It was no longer crude ingredient mixing. He could amplify the life-rich qualities of the blood itself.

Nicolas had poured everything into teaching him. As a student, Leonardo wanted to repay that.

Tomorrow, he would send a dose to Newt and Tina as well.

Especially Newt, who travelled the world year-round, constantly battered by magical creatures. He really did deserve something restorative.

Newt valued him deeply — guiding him without hesitation, even entrusting him with a suitcase.

Leonardo did not short change friends or family.

“By the way, System, Vitality Renewed is a potion I invented too. If I sell it, can it count toward the loan task?”

A rare treasure that replenished vitality and prolonged life. No matter the price, someone would buy it.

Never mind the sales count; the revenue alone could be met quickly.

[…]

[Er, well, host, er, so, you see…]

The system’s hesitating tone told Leonardo everything.

It was only an idle question anyway. Once quantity went up, the money would not be far behind. They moved together.

“Fine. Do whatever you like. I have work to do.”

During this period, he had already designed and planned many alchemical tools and potions, and made some prototypes.

“Next is finding sales agents.”

…

Grafton Manor.

Leonardo checked the first drafts of two Transfiguration papers again:

Transfiguration Layering: On the Construction and Maintenance of Composite Biological Structures
A Study of Transfiguration Based on Magic Circuit Theory

Then he made three copies of each, preparing to send one set to Dumbledore and one set to Professor McGonagall. He had been corresponding with them all summer on the topic.

One remaining set would go to his teacher, Nicolas. When Nicolas learned he was preparing papers, he had mentioned casually that he wanted a copy when it was done. Leonardo had not forgotten.

He had spent most of this time at home.

In between, he had visited the Malfoy dragon reserve as agreed, but there were too few Norwegian Ridgebacks.

Late at night, when everything was quiet, he let Norbert out to spar with the few of its kind. The fight ended quickly. Leonardo gave them healing and food as compensation, and with deliberate concealment magic, no one noticed a thing.

Whether it was the special result of incubating the egg with Qilin pure flame, or the foundation laid by the Bone and Blood Baptism Draught, Norbert’s growth rate and strength had been a pleasant surprise.

A few days ago, Leonardo had also turned twelve. He held a birthday banquet, invited both Muggle and wizarding friends, and received quite a few presents.

Other than that, he had been focused entirely on the Transfiguration papers.

According to letters from Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, the review results would likely be announced within half a year, and there was a good chance they would be published directly in the authoritative journal Transfiguration Today.

Leonardo tapped a finger lightly against the desk, thoughts already reaching further.

Publishing the papers would form a cornerstone of reputation.

Since the system required him to sell alchemy and potions under his own name, the inventor’s fame mattered as much as the product’s quality.

Reputation and products were tools that strengthened each other.

Clang.

A sudden impact snapped Leonardo out of his thoughts.

He did not need to look. With a tap of his wand, the window opened.

And he was not worried about using his wand outside school during the holiday and triggering the Trace, with the Ministry turning up to investigate.

He had learned a simple piece of an ancient spell from Nicolas, one that could easily block the Trace’s sensing.

Leonardo guided the unconscious owl outside the window, floating it onto his desk.

Looking at the grey, miserable-looking owl lying there, he shook his head helplessly.

It was the Weasleys’ owl, Errol. An elderly, rather muddled owl.

When it delivered letters to him, eight times out of ten, it crashed into the window. The other two times it hit the wall.

Leonardo cast a series of healing and reviving charms.

Thanks to the unicorn blessing, his healing worked exceptionally well. Errol recovered immediately, woke up, shoved the letter at him, then stood there blankly.

Leonardo took out a tin of owl treats, but Errol only remembered to eat when the snack was held right up to his beak.

Faced with an owl that seemed to have senile dementia, Leonardo wondered if he should develop a potion for treating animal dementia as he opened the letter.

“Dear Lord Leonardo,

Whenever may you honour our humble home with your presence? We await you at Ottery St Catchpole, the Burrow.”

The teasing tone and the tiny little doodled face at the end made Leonardo smile. It felt like the twins’ work.

Either way, it was time to visit the Weasleys.

…

After riding the Knight Bus, Leonardo arrived in Devon, at Ottery St Catchpole.

Following the directions in the letter, he found the place quickly.

It was impossible to miss.

It stood beside a pond, surrounded by a small patch of fields and pasture.

The house itself looked as if several different parts had been stuck together, and the whole thing leaned at an alarming angle.

Leonardo suspected that without magic holding it up, it would have collapsed long ago.

This magically peculiar, homely place was the Weasleys’ home: the Burrow.

“Leonardo!”

Ron looked up from de‑gnoming the garden just in time to spot him. His face lit up.

He gave the gnome in his hand one last spin and flung it out of the garden — the little creature yelped, “Let me go! Let me go!” — before scrambling over the fence and hurrying toward his friend.

Ron started to pull Leonardo into a hug, then hesitated when he noticed the mud on his sleeves, freezing mid‑motion with his arms half‑raised.

Leonardo just smiled and stepped forward, closing the distance with a light, easy hug.

“Long time no see.”

It loosened something in Ron at once. To be honest, the last time he attended Leonardo’s birthday banquet had shocked him to the core.

He had guessed Leonardo’s family was well off, but he had not expected that level of well off.

Ron had been a little worried. Would Leonardo look down on their home, when the gap was so large?

But Leonardo’s reaction made him relax at once. Thinking back, it made sense. Over the entire year, Leonardo had always been easy to get along with.

Except during revision.

“Oy, is that not Lord Leonardo?” Fred and George called, strolling over with matching grins. “Welcome, welcome.”

“Hello, Leonardo,” Ginny said as she came up too, much quieter than the others.

Her eyes kept flicking toward Leonardo’s pocket, as if hoping a fluffy little platinum white head might pop out to greet her.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 173

Chapter 173: Nicolas: Do You Want to Be My Student?

Inside Nicolas’ workshop.

Under the guidance of the legendary alchemist, Leonardo corrected the puppet’s flaws.

“Yes. Remove one ring of energy gathering runes here, replace it with one and a half rings of magic transfer runes, then forge the component from mithril with good conductivity…”

Once Nicolas offered a suggestion, Leonardo grasped it quickly and put it into practice at once.

“Then at the end of the transmission line, where the channels are thinner, should I reduce the rune layering and adjust the material properties…”

Leonardo’s ability to draw inferences pleased Nicolas greatly. It was not rigid imitation. His mind stayed active, and he brought his own ideas into every experiment.

“Very good. Very good, Leonardo. You learn remarkably fast. What alchemy books have you read before?”

“There are not many alchemy books sold on the market,” Leonardo said. “Most of mine came from the Hogwarts library. Introduction to Alchemy, Principles of Material Conversion, The Magic of Equivalent Exchange…”

He rattled off more than twenty titles. Last year, his focus had not been alchemy, so he had not read that much in the field.

“Building a solid foundation first is the right choice. Most of these were recommended by Albus, were they not?”

Leonardo nodded.

“Yes.”

Nicolas had Leonardo put the puppet away. Then he spoke a single word aloud, but Leonardo could not identify it at once. The pronunciation was harsh and strange.

The instant Nicolas finished the word, glowing runes lit up beneath their feet. A pillar of magic surged upward and wrapped around them.

When the light vanished, the scene had changed completely.

The magical spacesuit was gone. In its place stood rows of towering shelves, packed with books both ancient and newly bound.

A teleportation spell?

That flash of runes had formed a magical array, faster and more comfortable than Floo powder.

Was it another kind of ancient magic? Nicolas, a wizard who was practically living history, truly had knowledge as vast as the sea.

“Want to learn it?” Nicolas asked. “That array just now.”

“Yes!”

Leonardo answered without hesitation, making no attempt to hide his hunger for knowledge.

Nicolas smiled. Talent alone was common. Talent that stayed hungry was rare. The boy had not turned arrogant or lazy just because he was ahead of his peers.

With a flick of his hand, a book flew off a shelf and into his grasp.

Leonardo took in the library. It was broader than the Hogwarts library, a true ocean of books.

Only someone who had lived for centuries could have amassed a collection like this.

Nicolas let the book hover in front of Leonardo.

“This is Ancient Hebrew. Start with this.”

“It is the foundation for learning that kind of teleportation array, and it is also a common script in many old alchemical texts.”

Leonardo accepted the book and thanked him.

Even if Nicolas had grabbed it casually, it was certainly not an ordinary text.

Alchemy was difficult to enter. It required resources, in other words, money. Some witches and wizards could not truly attempt it until adulthood.

And there was another obstacle. Language.

Few people studied alchemy, and even fewer passed it down. Many lineages traced back to antiquity, so the scripts involved were naturally ancient magical writing. Modern languages often cannot explain the magic clearly.

Nicolas conjured a blackboard and tables and began teaching Leonardo properly, filling the gaps and firmly laying down a complete foundation.

Whenever a reference was needed, Nicolas simply summoned it from the shelves.

Leonardo threw himself into it with everything he had, like a dry sponge drinking greedily, absorbing knowledge and nourishment without pause.

An opportunity to learn from a legendary alchemist did not come often.

Though Nicolas had lived for over six hundred years, his teaching style was not stiff in the slightest. He quoted widely, yet explained each point clearly and simply.

As he taught, Nicolas found himself more and more satisfied with Leonardo’s performance.

It had been a long time since he had taught anyone like this.

The last time might have been more than a hundred years ago.

And through this process, Nicolas gained a far clearer sense of Leonardo’s alchemical talent.

The boy was, without question, a true genius.

What delighted Nicolas even more was that Leonardo excelled in other areas as well.

Alchemy touched many branches of magic. To pursue true, comprehensive alchemy, aptitude was a threshold that could not be crossed by effort alone.

It was frustrating, and it was real.

Nicolas had even prepared himself. If Leonardo was weak in Charms or Potions, he was willing to spend extra time patching it up. But reality proved that worry unnecessary.

Leonardo stayed with Nicolas. His days settled into a steady rhythm.

In the mornings, he worked on his Transfiguration thesis or developed alchemical tools and potions. In the afternoons, he studied alchemy with Nicolas. At night, he either continued working or joined Nicolas and Perenelle for leisure, such as opera.

The fuller the days, the faster time passed.

Leonardo had already been there for more than half a month.

One day, he played wizard chess with Nicolas.

“Beauxbatons starts teaching Alchemy in the third year?” Leonardo asked, glancing up from the board. “That’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was France’s great magical school, alongside Hogwarts and Durmstrang, as one of Europe’s three largest. In France, its authority was much the same as Hogwarts’ in Britain.

Nicolas had mentioned that Beauxbatons students could take Alchemy in third year, and it was compulsory, at least until the upper years. There were no special entry requirements early on.

At Hogwarts, by contrast, Alchemy could only be chosen from sixth year, and only with high enough marks. In some years, if too few students met the standard or chose it, the subject was not offered at all.

Nicolas frowned at the board, tangled in the game.

“Yes. I have funded Beauxbatons,” he said. “I have provided some help and guidance in alchemy as well, so they can offer broader education. Of course, the true threshold for serious study is still not low.”

Hearing that, Leonardo was not surprised. With Nicolas Flamel backing them, Beauxbatons’ Alchemy course was probably the best in the world.

“So, Leonardo,” Nicolas said, eyeing him and then eyeing the board as if wondering whether he could somehow make a piece disappear, “would you like to transfer to Beauxbatons? Their Alchemy is certainly stronger than Hogwarts, and…”

He leaned closer, voice lowering conspiratorially.

“Beauxbatons also has plenty of pretty girls. I built a beauty fountain there. Very useful. If you go, you will get an eyeful, heh.”

“And it might not be only looking. You are a good-looking boy. You would not lack for admirers there. Speaking of which, have you found a little girlfriend at Hogwarts?”

After spending this time with Nicolas, Leonardo was no longer as guarded as he had been at the start. He had learned that Nicolas occasionally acted like this on purpose. According to the old man, it was how he kept his spirits up, so the weight of the years did not crush him.

“I think Hogwarts has a wonderful atmosphere,” Leonardo said, still staring seriously at the chessboard. “And this is the age for studying. By the way, that beauty fountain you mentioned, what is the principle behind it?”

Seeing that Leonardo had not been distracted, Nicolas quietly pouted.

“Finish this match first,” he said. “I will teach you tomorrow.”

Then, as casually as if asking what Leonardo wanted for dinner, Nicolas added, “Leonardo, do you want to be my student?”

Leonardo, sitting opposite the chessboard, looked up in shock.

Nicolas’ tone was light and natural, but his deep eyes were filled with seriousness. There was not the slightest hint of a joke.

Become Nicolas’ student?

To follow a living legend, an ancient wizard who had endured six centuries, a master standing at the peak of alchemy itself…

To learn under Nicolas Flamel?

Even with Leonardo’s composure, the question shook him. Thoughts churned and surged.

Seeing Leonardo’s startled, complicated expression, and understanding why he could hardly believe it, Nicolas smiled gently.

“No need to be nervous,” he said. “Teacher and student. Not the old master and disciple relationship from ancient times, with all that severity.”

“I can tell,” Nicolas continued. “You want to learn many things. And you can learn many things. It will not be limited to alchemy. I only…”

His voice paused. His eyes turned wistful.

“I only want to pass my knowledge on.”

Over these days, Nicolas had thought about it at length. He planned to fly into the region Muggles called space, hoping to do what they had done and see the Moon for himself.

But one thing weighed on him. The alchemy he had spent his life mastering.

Over the centuries, Nicolas had had children and descendants. He had taken many disciples and students.

But alchemy demanded too much talent. If someone wished to climb to its summit, the requirements were so strict they bordered on cruel.

Far more demanding than most other fields.

So Nicolas had never found a successor that truly satisfied him. Even when he poured everything into their training, those young people could not carry his hopes.

Yet just as Nicolas was preparing to give up, to focus entirely on reaching the sky and stop involving himself in worldly matters, a “surprise” appeared.

This boy called Leonardo had talent enough to move him. And the time they spent together had allowed Nicolas to understand his character far more fully.

The more Nicolas watched him, the more he admired him. The more he admired him, the more satisfied he became. In Leonardo, he saw hope.

Hope that the legacy could be carried on.

Now Nicolas was grateful, grateful that Albus and Newt had written to him and recommended this child.

Grateful as well for the moment of curiosity that had made him want to meet a boy he had never seen before.

There was anticipation in Nicolas’ gaze. And a trace of unease.

He believed that in alchemy, he was second to none. He could be the best alchemy mentor in the world, providing the finest resources and guidance.

He also knew that Leonardo was a boy who thirsted for knowledge to an extreme degree, and should not refuse such an offer.

Even so, Nicolas could not be certain.

And Leonardo’s heart was pounding as well. He had not expected Nicolas to truly offer to take him as a formal student.

He had already been learning from Nicolas for some time, but with an official teacher-student bond, he would surely learn even more.

On the road of alchemy, Nicolas was the known end point, the summit.

No matter how great one’s talent, a mentor mattered.

In alchemy, it mattered even more. The field demanded too much. Money, aptitude, inheritance.

Without a good teacher to guide the way, one could only stumble like a headless fly, taking endless detours and wrong turns.

So there was no question how Leonardo would choose.

“It would be my honour,” he said.

“Teacher.”

At the word teacher, Nicolas finally relaxed. A wave of relief washed through him, clean and almost exhilarating.

“Good. Good. Good,” Nicolas said, pleased. “Finish the chess match first, then we will go eat.”

Nicolas felt deeply satisfied. Perhaps he could delay the Moon plan a little. First, he would teach Leonardo properly.

He had plenty of time. Waiting a bit longer would be no trouble.

Now that Leonardo was his student, Nicolas could teach without holding anything back. The secrets of the Philosopher’s Stone. The brewing of the Elixir of Life. Lost magic from antiquity.

Leonardo lowered his eyes to the board again and prepared to continue the game.

Hmm…

These pieces… were they in the right places?

He was fairly sure they had not been set like this just now.

…

“Headmistress Maxime, will this really work?”

A tall, slender girl spoke nervously. She had a cascade of golden hair, and her beauty was striking, almost unnervingly so. Stranger still, a faint silvery glow seemed to cling to her.

“Fleur,” said the woman beside her, “you have met Mr Flamel before. You left a good impression.”

Standing next to Fleur was a woman of towering height, truly enormous.

Even the already tall Fleur looked like a cute doll in comparison.

This was Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons.

Seeing Fleur still tense, Maxime comforted her.

“The chances are not small. You are the most talented alchemy student Beauxbatons has produced in a hundred years. Just do your best and let Mr Flamel see your strengths.”

Maxime did not say the rest, afraid it might shake Fleur’s confidence.

Even if Fleur could not become Nicolas Flamel’s formal disciple, being accepted even in name would be enough to make others envious.

Among the witches and wizards Nicolas had personally taught, none had been a nobody.

And an opportunity like this likely would not come again.

Maxime looked up at the silver ship that vanished into the clouds and could not help marvelling at Nicolas Flamel’s wild imagination.

A beam of light wrapped around Maxime and Fleur, slowly drawing them up into the silver ship.

The moment they stepped aboard, they saw Nicolas Flamel and a young boy.

Nicolas was patting the boy’s shoulder, looking very close to him.

As if sensing someone had arrived, the boy turned and looked their way.

Fleur only had time to notice his dark green eyes before he vanished, teleported away.

Curiosity stirred in her despite herself, but Fleur still followed Headmistress Maxime and greeted Nicolas Flamel politely.

After exchanging greetings, Maxime asked casually, “Mr Flamel, the child just now was…?”

Nicolas smiled.

“That was my student,” he said. “My last student.”

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 172

Chapter 172: A New Talent, Nicolas’ Surprise

The desert layer of the case world.

Leonardo looked up at the towering emerald tree, now solid enough to seem real.

He pulled his right hand away from the tree’s surface. With a soft crackle, a scatter of powdery fragments fell into the sand.

Leonardo lowered his gaze to his palm. A new emerald pattern had appeared there.

It looked like a miniature version of the great tree, yet it was incomplete. The roots, trunk, and branches were all missing sections, as if the mark itself were a broken diagram.

“Alchemy…”

Leonardo began to think through the steps and requirements for repaying the loan.

Within a year, he had to sell thirty thousand alchemical items or potions, earning a total of one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons.

First came product quality and output. Then came distribution.

Production had to be solved first.

In the early stage, both Potions and Alchemy burned money.

Fortunately, his own reserves were deep enough that the start would not be a problem. Once products began turning into profit, the cycle could feed itself and scale up.

Promotion mattered too. He needed to build a name quickly.

A name…

Leonardo suddenly thought of the paper Dumbledore had urged him to write. If his Transfiguration thesis made waves in the wizarding world, it might also help his products sell.

After all, he had to sell under his own name. The fame of the inventor and the reputation of the goods could reinforce each other.

Looks like the thesis needed to move faster.

Making alchemical tools and brewing potions would also take manpower. There was no way he could do it all personally. He would need a large workforce.

Hire wizards, or goblins?

Money was not the issue, but that kind of high-skilled labour was better suited to fine work, producing premium, expensive items aimed at wealthy pure blood buyers.

Puppets.

The word surfaced in his mind without warning.

After touring Nicolas’ ship, he had seen several types of alchemical puppets. The ones used for stage performances were finely crafted. In places like factories and farms where the work was repetitive, the puppets were simpler, and there were far more of them.

If he could make puppets to work for him…

The moment the thought formed, something shifted.

All the knowledge he had accumulated, not limited to Alchemy but including Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions, suddenly linked together. It joined, crossed, and locked into place.

Inspiration collided in his mind, and the spark of creation flared.

Problems that had trapped him a moment ago seemed to loosen on their own.

“Yes. The puppet’s materials, its structure, its power source…”

One magical material after another flew out of Leonardo’s pockets.

At last, a crystal clear ruby hovered in mid-air.

Leonardo tapped this brand-new Philosopher’s Stone lightly with his wand. A halo of magic spread outward, slowly expanding.

…

Nicolas lowered his wand and looked at the heavy, white full-body suit in front of him.

“Yes. A Muggle spacesuit looks something like this,” he murmured.

“But with magic and alchemy, there is no need to make it so bulky. It can be refined…”

He raised his wand again and adjusted the magical version of the spacesuit according to his ideas.

He did not work for long before stopping to rest, easing himself back onto the sofa.

It was not that his magic was running low. It was fatigue.

The Elixir of Life brewed from the Philosopher’s Stone could help Nicolas evade death, but it could not restore his vitality. His body kept ageing, and his energy was painfully limited.

So he worked for a while, then rested. And more often than not, he rested longer than he worked.

Even so, Nicolas was patient. He was not in a hurry.

He had lived for centuries. Time was the one thing he had in abundance.

“Master, Mr Leonardo says he has something he would like to ask you.”

Kewby’s voice sounded through the room via the communication charm.

“All right,” Nicolas said. “Bring him here directly.”

The next second, Kewby Apparated in with Leonardo, placing him right in front of Nicolas.

After bowing, Kewby vanished again. Leonardo’s attention went straight to the white full-body suit in the room.

His eyebrows lifted slightly. That looked like a spacesuit.

It was lighter than one, though. Probably modified with magic.

So Nicolas really did want to go and see outer space.

Leonardo withdrew his gaze and greeted him properly.

“Good afternoon, Mr Flamel.”

Nicolas nodded in return.

“Kewby says you have questions?”

“Yes,” Leonardo said. “I have seen you have many alchemical puppets. I wanted to try making one myself, but I ran into some problems.”

Nicolas thought the curiosity was natural. Children always wanted to explore whatever was new.

He assumed Leonardo would ask about basic principles: how the puppets functioned, how the materials were refined, and the structure of the body.

Nicolas had already decided that if Leonardo truly wanted to build one, he would give more detailed guidance.

Even producing a simple set of limbs or a rough model would be meaningful practice for learning alchemy.

“I want to use a Philosopher’s Stone as the power source,” Leonardo said, “but I cannot tell if the issue is with the runes or a flaw in the material. The magic seems to leak away far too much.

“And the puppet’s cognition module. It can execute simple instructions, but anything more complex starts producing errors…”

Listening to these questions, Nicolas frowned. The boy was aiming too high. Alchemy was complex and strictly ordered. The truth was to advance step by step, with both feet on the ground.

He was about to offer a gentle reminder when Leonardo reached into his pocket and pulled out a puppet, silver white from head to toe.

A Philosopher’s Stone was set into its chest. Magic flowed within it, threading through fine channels that ran throughout the puppet’s body, like blood moving through veins.

Leonardo drew his wand and tapped the puppet once.

The puppet immediately began to hop, run, and move. Its actions were remarkably smooth, with no stiffness at all.

Leonardo had it stop, then opened the chest plating, revealing the magic channels inside.

“Here, the leakage is very obvious,” he said. “And here. Here as well.

“But other sections do not have this problem, so I…”

“You used materials that are too good,” Nicolas cut in. “You do not need soft silver and purple crystal. Brass soaked in Kelpie fluid will do.”

At some point, Nicolas had already risen to his feet. His eyes were bright as they locked onto the puppet in Leonardo’s hands.

“This, this puppet… did you just make it?”

“Yes,” Leonardo said. “I thought of using a Philosopher’s Stone as the power source. The magic it releases is extremely pure. It hardly needs conversion before it fits most purposes.”

Nicolas stepped closer and examined the puppet carefully.

With his level of skill, he could spot many flaws at once. But he could see far more strengths.

From this puppet alone, it was clear that Leonardo’s foundation in alchemy was solid. What he lacked was systematic study, which meant certain details were not yet properly handled.

That was easy to fix. With time, practice, and accumulation, it would come.

But Nicolas had seen something truly precious, something that could not be learned through effort alone. A kind of living intuition.

Talent.

Nicolas lifted his gaze from the puppet to Leonardo himself.

Now there was doubt in his eyes.

Had Albus and Newt been hiding the boy’s real level and true talent in alchemy on purpose?

Just so they could hand him a surprise this big.

Harry Potter: I Get Stronger by Taking Loans - 171

Chapter 171: Emerald Tablet Fragment

After Kewby left, Leonardo opened his suitcase and stepped into the case world.

He went straight to the barren desert layer. There was nothing living here except him.

He summoned the system and checked the loan details.

[Loan Name: Emerald Tablet Fragment (annual)]
[Repayment Time Limit: 365 days]
[Loan Contents: A stone tablet inscribed with thirteen axioms, symbolising Hermes’ magical aptitude.]
[White Magic: A+]
[Dark Magic: B+]
[Defence: A]
[Transfiguration: S]
[Potions: S+]
[Alchemy: SS+]
[Magic Power: A+]
[Loan Task: Under your own name, sell 30,000 alchemical items or potions, earning a total of 150,000 Galleons.]

Emerald Tablet… fragment…

Leonardo remembered that the Emerald Tablet was said to come from Egypt. The thirteen axioms carved upon it were rumoured to be the origin of all alchemy in the world, laying bare its deepest mysteries.

And this “Hermes” was not the Olympian messenger from Greek myth, but Hermes the Egyptian pharaoh.

Together with his father, the god Thoth, and his son, the high priest Tat, the three formed a trinity that was also regarded as the god Hermes.

By rights, this should have been god level talent, like Loki’s Faceless gift. But…

There was no SSS grade “divine” talent listed here. The highest rating was only SS+ in Alchemy.

Was it because it was a fragment?

Because the Tablet was incomplete, the aptitude it granted was reduced as well?

And the other ratings were not particularly high either. They did not match the title of “origin of alchemy”.

“System, if I fuse this talent plate, will it affect my existing talents?”

[When the host fuses multiple talent plates, lower-grade talents are overwritten by higher-grade talents. They do not stack or upgrade.]

Overwritten by higher talents. Good.

Leonardo pulled up his current talent template.

[White Magic: S]
[Dark Magic: SS+]
[Defence: S+]
[Transfiguration: SSS]
[Potions: A]
[Alchemy: A+]
[Magic Power: SS]

Right. If he fused the Emerald Tablet Fragment, his Potions and Alchemy aptitude would jump, patching the weak points he had been carrying.

The rest would not change much. Loki’s Faceless would still be the foundation.

As for the loan task, “under your own name”…

Leonardo asked, and the system answered.

[These alchemical items or potions must be personally developed by the host. Production and sales may be handled by others. The buyer must know the inventor is the host.]

In plain terms, he had to be the researcher. He could only sell products he invented.

But manufacturing and sales mattered too.

Thirty thousand units and one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons.

Witches and wizards made up less than one ten-thousandth of the human population. Britain had fewer than four thousand magical folk. Worldwide, two or three hundred thousand would already be generous.

That number made sense. If there were many more, there would be no need for the Statute of Secrecy at all. Wizards could simply rule Muggles openly.

To sell thirty thousand units total meant, on average, ten items per British witch or wizard.

So Britain alone was not enough. He would have to expand into other regions.

And he still had to earn one hundred and fifty thousand Galleons. Averaged out, that meant five Galleons per item or potion. For most witches and wizards, five Galleons was not cheap. Ollivanders sold a wand for seven Galleons.

But the sales count and the sales revenue did not have to come from the same products.

Low-cost, practical goods could push the unit count. High-end, expensive goods could push the revenue.

Different customers, different product lines.

The loan never said he could only sell one kind of item. As long as the alchemical tools and potions he developed were good enough and aimed at different markets, it would work.

With S+ Potions aptitude and SS+ Alchemy aptitude, research would not be a problem.

The trouble would be production and distribution. Ingredients. Cost control. Processing.

The more Leonardo thought about it, the more he found himself smiling bitterly. Carrying on the family tradition, was it? He had not expected that even in the wizarding world, he would end up returning to old habits.

Still, he wanted those two aptitude boosts. And…

There was a strong feeling in his chest that the Emerald Tablet Fragment could be completed. This annual loan might be only the beginning. SS+ Alchemy could potentially rise to SSS, that truly godlike level.

Leonardo had already experienced what SSS aptitude could do. When it came to learning and mastering knowledge, the difference was overwhelming.

This annual loan trial would also force him to raise his skill in Alchemy and Potions. Everything he learned would be profitable.

Having tasted the benefits once, there was no way he would casually let this chance go.

An annual loan trigger only happened two or three times in a year at most. If it could be taken, it should be taken.

Perhaps because it was incomplete, the Emerald Tablet Fragment’s task requirements were relatively reasonable.

If it had started with a god tier annual loan, Leonardo could still remember how ridiculous Loki’s Faceless loan task had been at the beginning. It had not only been absurd, but endlessly long.

“System, I want to borrow the Emerald Tablet Fragment (annual).”

[Ding. Loan application for Emerald Tablet Fragment has been approved.]
[Evaluation: The source of all perfection is here.]

As the prompt sounded, a solid gemstone tablet floated into existence before Leonardo.

It was made entirely of emerald, its surface engraved with orderly characters.

But the tablet, which should have been dazzlingly beautiful, was no longer whole. A massive crack split it apart, and more than half of the inscription was missing.

Leonardo recognised the script as Latin. The axioms he could still make out included:

“True without falsehood, certain and most true.”

“All things were from One, through the mediation of One.”

“The Sun is its father, the Moon its mother; the Wind carried it in its belly, the Earth is its nurse…”

Just looking at the tablet and reading those lines made something in Leonardo’s mind loosen. Questions about alchemy that had been stuck for ages suddenly showed signs of shifting.

Full of anticipation, he slowly raised his right hand and let his fingertips rest against the crystal clear fragment.

In an instant, the massive emerald tablet cracked apart without a sound, bursting into countless points of brilliant stardust, like a startled green dream.

Before Leonardo could even react, the flowing emerald dust moved as if alive. It slipped down between his fingers and rapidly coated his entire right hand.

Then, from his palm, a clean, lively emerald radiance flared into being.

The light shot upward and, in the middle of the desert, became an ancient tree that reached for the sky.

Branches and leaves forged from light swayed in the void, turning the wasteland into a hidden garden that looked like a miracle made real.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 150

Chapter 150: Canary Creams Crisis

Draco Malfoy had never felt snow this cold. It made him shiver involuntarily.

The figure hidden beneath the black robes was like a thundercloud gathering. Even without moving, everyone knew a storm was coming.

Malfoy could not understand what had happened. He had deliberately avoided that Green, even going out of his way to steer clear. Before coming to Hogwarts, that would have been unthinkable. Now, he bitterly regretted not choosing Durmstrang.

His legs shook, and when he glanced sideways, Crabbe and Goyle looked almost ready to pass out.

That only made him more afraid.

In the midst of this, Professor Snape finally spoke.

“Ha… orphan…”

Snape’s voice was like a whisper from the depths of hell, cold and hollow.

…

When Harry and Ron left the Quidditch pitch, Shawn, Justin, and Neville were nearby.

The greenhouse and Quidditch pitch were not far apart, both at the back of the castle.

So when Harry and Ron looked over, they could just make out a few figures trudging through the snow.

“Is that… Shawn?” Harry asked, his words turning into mist as he wrapped his scarf tighter.

“Anyway, Snape is of course… um, it’s Shawn, Justin, and Neville. Oh, if Hermione weren’t busy reading ten more books, she’d be helping in the greenhouse too,” Ron answered, still listing Snape’s latest cutting remarks.

“So… us?” Harry was surprised by this group effort. No one had told him about it.

“Harry… you didn’t know? Oh! Of course you didn’t. You’ve been at Quidditch all day,” Ron shouted, the wind making him raise his voice.

“The greenhouse needs…”

Harry’s voice was lost in the snowstorm.

“Of course it does! Neville comes back looking dead every time!” Ron said, and they exchanged a knowing look.

The snow grew heavier. The greenhouse was full of plants that needed care.

Take Bubotuber, for example. Its pods needed to be squeezed regularly in winter.

More importantly, before squeezing, the pods had to be heated over a flame until they turned bright red. If you tried to squeeze a cold pod, the sharp, moving black seeds inside would explode.

Taking the pods from a wild, whip-wielding Bubotuber was no easy task. Fortunately, it was a job assigned to Bruce and two other upper-year students in Greenhouse Three.

But Shawn and the others often heard their screams—or rather, Bruce screaming while Leon laughed.

In front of the domed greenhouse, Justin was about to push the door open. Behind him, Neville was shyly sharing some plant-care tips with Shawn.

Snow clung to Shawn’s face as he nodded, his Speed Quill scribbling down notes, making Neville both happy and even more bashful.

“Shawn!”

“Shawn!”

When the greenhouse door opened, two distant shouts rang out.

It was Harry and Ron, running over. Professor Sprout, who had just pushed open the door to Greenhouse Three, smiled brightly.

How wonderful, how splendid…

“Congratulations on discovering the Hope Room’s secret task. Greenhouse One welcomes you. There are gloves on the shelves—don’t forget to take some,” Justin said, smiling warmly.

“Oh!”

Ron gasped, and Justin’s words instantly filled him with excitement.

“You can’t imagine, we just escaped from Snape’s clutches…”

Ron put on his gloves, so excited he did not know what else to say, and blurted out the topic he and Harry had just been discussing.

“If you make even a tiny mistake, he takes points from Gryffindor. And Neville—he’s always the target. Today, Snape was in a terrible mood. Ha! Even Malfoy couldn’t escape…”

Hearing Snape’s name, Neville turned pale, even trembling.

“He must hate me. He doesn’t realise that apart from those Slytherins who only flatter him, no one truly… likes him,” Harry said, clenching his jaw.

Justin frowned. From his observation, Snape was indeed harsh, but his teaching was unquestionable.

But at the thought of Snape’s actions, he stayed silent.

They did not know that far away, a wide black cloak stood in the snow with some indescribable purpose.

His dark eyes were fixed on the scene. After a sinister glance at Harry and Ron, they settled on a pair of green eyes.

“He’s not a good person. He’s alone because no one can stand him,” Ron muttered.

Harry nodded in agreement. One by one, they entered the greenhouse. Harry suddenly wanted to say something.

But then he heard a faint, quiet voice.

“Harry, even if there is no place for Professor Snape in this world, who are we to judge his soul?”

Shawn met Harry’s gaze, sighed softly, and entered the greenhouse.

Harry stood frozen. He rarely saw such a complex look, filled with so much he could not put into words.

He suddenly remembered what Hermione had told him—Snape was not the one trying to kill him.

A shiver ran through his spine. Then who was it?

The wide cloak was gone from the snow; only the place he had been watching remained, where a pair of green eyes had lingered all winter.

They were so alike.

“Well, gentlemen! Looks like we’ll finish early today!” Professor Sprout said, as enthusiastic as ever, checking that all five students had gloves to protect themselves.

But just as everyone grew excited and ready to work, a loud noise came from Greenhouse Three, followed by panicked shouts.

“Merlin’s beard—the Canary Creams really do turn into canaries!”

Professor Sprout’s face changed, and she hurried out.

Ron and Harry looked at each other, while Shawn and the others rushed to the door of Greenhouse Three.

Inside, vines whipped wildly. Bruce clutched a canary, face pale, darting around to avoid the Bubotuber. When he could not escape, he tossed the canary away and shouted, “Pist, remember when I saved you!”

Then he was knocked out by the Bubotuber.

Professor Sprout paled as she moved the unconscious Bruce aside.

At that moment, the canary transformed into a furious, red-faced Pist.

“What happened?” Justin asked, while Shawn saw the biscuit crumbs in Pist’s hand and understood.

“That fool! He gave Pist a strange biscuit while we were controlling the Bubotuber!”

Leon was furious—usually, he never cursed Bruce in front of Shawn.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 149

Chapter 149: I Promise

The Weasley twins were punished after they bewitched a few snowballs to chase Quirrell all over the grounds, only for them to smack into the back of his turban in the end.

Shawn was a bit stunned when he saw it.

It seemed Hogwarts’ “persecution” of Lord Voldemort was not limited to Penelope the prefect’s flames. It also included the Weasleys’ snowballs.

No wonder Voldemort insisted on attacking Hogwarts.

There were grudges involved.

As the Weasley brothers were hauled away by a rather angry Professor Sprout, Shawn headed back into the castle too. He had made every preparation he could. Now there was only practice.

Cold wind ran through the corridor, and the Transfiguration office fire burned low.

Professor McGonagall stood by the window, fingers holding a letter, as though she had glimpsed last winter again.

Firelight flickered across her square spectacles, and in the depths of her eyes lay a dimness she had never shown anyone.

She set the letter down, deliberately slowing her movements as if she were merely sorting papers. Outside the window, Hogwarts’ snowy landscape stretched on.

Until:

Knock, knock, knock.

Shawn tapped lightly on the Transfiguration office door.

“Come in, child,” Professor McGonagall said, returning to her seat behind the wooden desk.

Advanced Transfiguration was more dangerous and more complex, and it had to be practised under safe conditions.

Shawn remembered her words. He began his practice for the day.

His wand moved, and the beetle began to sprout feathers…

Clear, precise intent. Firm belief. Sufficient will.

Transfiguration always came back to those three rules. The beetle grew larger, but in less than two seconds, it snapped back into its original form.

Shawn breathed out hard, staring at the beetle, unable to understand what he had missed.

“Child,” Professor McGonagall said.

It was rare for her to see a student wear such genuine confusion. Only then did he look like an eleven-year-old again.

“Try thinking about this. Why a beetle?”

Her eyes narrowed, but then she seemed to remember something, and her expression sank back into a quiet stillness.

“Why… a beetle?” Shawn murmured.

Then his eyes brightened. He flipped quickly through the professor’s notes.

When practising advanced Transfiguration, there was always one method to strengthen belief: find the corresponding similarities.

Beneath that line were examples.

It was easier to transfigure a frog into a toad, or a canary into a cuckoo.

Both were “living to living” transfigurations, yet they were easier than others because the two forms shared something extremely similar.

Shawn thought, for no particular reason, of that student who had once transfigured a classmate into a badger. Surely he had not genuinely believed his classmate was a badger, had he?

So when Shawn raised his wand again, the beetle quickly became a feathered bird. It still had a few feelers and traces of shell along the surface, but it had stepped into Apprentice level.

[You practised advanced Transfiguration at Apprentice standard. Proficiency +30]

“You are unquestionably a genius, Mr Green,” Professor McGonagall said, amazed.

Then she watched as Shawn, full of enthusiasm, began practising again and again.

Just as he had said, once the panel showed progress, success was only a matter of time.

After practising for a while, Shawn reached Entry level.

And once he reached Proficient, he could start making “owl biscuits”.

Before he left the office, Professor McGonagall walked over slowly. She took his hand, her face softened by the warmth of the fire, and she said quietly, “This Christmas, you will receive a letter. I promise.”

Shawn could unravel the hidden knowledge behind countless branches of magic, yet faced with feelings like this, he did not know what to do.

…

Thanks to the thickening snow, Professor Sprout’s smile grew warmer too.

“By the second spring, the life buried under the snow will burst out even more fiercely,” she often said, hoe in hand.

Outside the castle, Shawn, Justin, and Neville trudged through the snow towards the greenhouses.

Not far away, Harry had just returned from training.

“I really do feel sorry for those people,” Draco Malfoy said, standing in the snow. “They have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because their families do not want them.”

He said it while looking straight at Harry.

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered beside him.

Harry did not react. He looked instead to Ron, who had come to meet him. Hagrid stood behind Ron, bundled in a heavy coat, and Ron was holding a steaming cup of honey-lemon tea from Justin.

Since the Quidditch match, Malfoy had become even gloomier than before.

Furious about Slytherin’s loss, he had tried to make everyone laugh by saying a wide-mouthed tree frog would replace Harry as Seeker in the next match.​

He had expected howls of laughter, only to find nobody thought it was funny, because everyone was impressed Harry had managed to stay on his wildly bucking broom at all.

Malfoy, jealous and furious, could only turn to mocking Harry for not having a proper family.

“And you,” Malfoy added, cold and drawn-out, turning his aim to Ron, “could you move? You are in the way.”

“Trying to curry favour with Hagrid, are you, Weasley? I suppose you hope to be the gamekeeper when you leave Hogwarts, too.

“Hagrid’s hut must look like a palace compared to the place you call home.”

Ron lunged at Malfoy, and at that exact moment, Professor Snape appeared.

“Weasley!” Snape barked.

Ron released the front of Malfoy’s robes.

“He started it, Professor Snape,” Hagrid said. “Malfoy insulted both their families just now.”

Hagrid and Harry did not have much hope. They both knew Professor Snape was not fair.

Ron held back his anger. He knew what was coming: Snape’s bias. It was not the first time.

But to their surprise, Snape did not speak at once. He stared at them darkly, then looked towards the greenhouses, where a pair of bright green eyes flashed past and vanished.

“What did he say?” Snape asked.

A nameless fury tore through his chest.

“Er, I only said someone has no parents, and he is poor and ridiculous…” Malfoy said smugly, completely missing the way the figure in black robes rose and fell with restrained breath.

“Get out. All of you,” Snape roared first at Harry and Ron.

None of them had ever seen Professor Snape this angry. They fled at once, trembling.

“This is strange, Harry,” Ron whispered as they ran. “Did we just escape?”

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 148

Chapter 148: Transfiguration Biscuits

Snow covered Hogwarts Castle in silver frost, making the longing between people grow deeper.

Shawn still had no letters to send, nor any letters that would arrive.

A week passed, and Shawn continued to move between the dungeons, the Transfiguration office, and the Alchemy office.

Alchemy had been unlocked, but his talent had not:

[Floating Quill: Apprentice (1/300)]
[Three Apprentice-level alchemical creations to unlock Apprentice-level Alchemy title]

Like most magical branches, Shawn needed to complete a few simple alchemical creations.

Meanwhile, Professor Tyra had assigned him a couple of tasks: make a Howler and choose one alchemical creation himself.

The Weasleys always wanted Shawn to pick one of their wild ideas.

“Look at this! Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder!” Fred burst out from behind a portrait yesterday afternoon, holding a black ball. When he threw it, the area was plunged into darkness so thick that even Lumos and Incendio could not penetrate it.

But Shawn could walk from the corridor to the Great Hall blindfolded, so the Weasleys’ hopes were dashed.

“I knew the Great Hall’s scent was cheating,” Fred wailed dramatically.

“So why must I pick your inventions?” Shawn asked the mischievous twins, his voice soft.

“Those boring things are so dull. But if you use one of our inventions—” Fred looked like he had been waiting for this moment, his excitement building.

“Then Professor Tyra might even take an interest!” George chimed in.

“If the professor is interested, we could attract investors. All we need is for her to say, ‘Not bad potential!’” Fred grew even more excited.

“Then wizards from Beauxbatons and Uagadou will come pouring in with Galleons!” George winked.

“You’ll see how important Professor Tyra is in the Alchemy world!” the twins said together.

In the end, Shawn chose Canary Creams (or another kind of transfigured food) as his practice project. Along with the Howler, he needed to finish both alchemical creations before Christmas.

This meant he had to learn about the materials, fusion rituals, and rune arrays for both creations.

Overall, his time became a bit tighter.

December had officially begun. One morning, Hogwarts woke from its slumber, blanketed in several feet of snow, the lake frozen solid.

Shawn stepped out of the castle, holding Professor Tyra’s notes. Outside, a crowd of young witches and wizards gathered, running and playing in the snow, chasing and laughing.

Even though Shawn could now run and jump, he still preferred to quietly stay in the corner.

He used the newly learned Entry-level Fire-Making Charm to light dry grass in a fireproof jar, then summoned two fire lizards.

They burned tracks in the snow, then scampered off until their flames faded, buried in the Hogwarts snow.

For a long time, Shawn considered which transfiguration to try.

For advanced Transfiguration, turning one living creature into another, he would probably only be able to master one in a short time.

The animal he had observed most closely, and the most interesting choice, was undoubtedly the wizarding world’s messenger—

the owl.

Shawn took out a loose sheet of parchment, waved his wand, and a flock of transfigured owls flew from his hand.

“Merlin’s beard—” Ron was stunned.

“It’s normal. Shawn’s progress in Transfiguration has even surpassed some older students,” Justin explained gently.

“It’s not just some, I feel it’s all of them,” Ron muttered.

Since the Hope Room’s agreement had been announced, the six young witches and wizards’ movements had become more unified.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville all belonged to Gryffindor, so they often acted together.

Their destination was simple: meet up with Justin, since finding Justin meant finding Shawn was not far behind.

[You practised an in-depth Intermediate Transfiguration at expert standard. Proficiency +100]

The panel prompt sounded. Shawn knew that even an in-depth Intermediate Transfiguration was not enough compared to his hundreds of thousands of proficiency points.

Only by constantly exploring and practising advanced Transfiguration could his progress speed up.

He had not forgotten that the last time he reached expert standard in advanced Transfiguration, his proficiency increased tenfold.

His current important task was turning a “living creature” into an “owl.”

Professor McGonagall gave him some beetles as experimental material and repeatedly stressed the secrets of advanced Transfiguration.

As he carefully read the professor’s notes on owls, Justin and Hermione, watching the falling snow, seemed to have some kind of gene awakening.

Soon, they started a snowball fight.

Wizard snowball fights were a bit different from ordinary ones. When Justin dodged Hermione’s first snowball, he saw her wave her wand and cast a spell, and snowballs started flying one after another.

Justin knew that even though he and Hermione were both Proficient-level in Levitation Charm, there was still a gap.

So he did not try to compete with Hermione for control of the snowballs. Instead, he took a different approach, using Aguamenti to create a wall of ice that quickly froze.

Watching their snowball fight, Harry and Ron quietly put down the snowballs they were holding and picked up their wands.

Their Levitation Charm was also gradually improving with practice.

“Oh—Shawn?” During a truce, Hermione looked at Shawn, who was reading notes nearby, and whispered to Justin, frowning.

“My mother says everyone’s happiness is different, but true friends always share each other’s joy,” Justin said, raising an eyebrow.

Shawn happened to look over and saw Harry and Ron trying to ambush Hermione, only to be turned into snowmen by her. A faint smile touched his lips.

In the blue-white world, several owls flew through the stormy sky, delivering mail after great hardship. At this time of year, they had to recover their strength under Hagrid’s care before taking off again.

“Eat this big snowball—Great Green!” Shawn heard a familiar voice. A fire lizard beside him instantly swelled up, swallowed the snowball, and charged straight at Fred.

“Uh-oh—” Fred was chased in circles by the fire lizard in the snow.

George laughed so hard he could not stand up, then saw Fred charging at him, and both were chased in circles by the fire lizard in the snow.

“Fred—” George cried out.

“George—” Fred shouted back.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 147

Chapter 147: A Winter with No Letters Sent​

The dungeons were always filled with the sound of young witches and wizards stirring, like snooker balls colliding. Occasionally, a cold voice would ring out. But more often, it was the soft hiss of ingredients hitting cauldrons, and the gentle bubbling as the cauldrons boiled.

Snape lurked in the shadows, and his long observation had taught him one thing: apart from a few specific areas, that fool’s talent was no different from the average, ordinary witch or wizard he had ever seen.

Amid the wisps of white smoke rising from the cauldron, he could not distinguish the subtle reactions between ingredients, nor could he sense the delicate nuances of flame licking the sides. He certainly could not judge the critical timing points when brewing potions.

In this respect, the only thing he could do was be meticulous.

Ha. If not for that meticulousness, he would probably be lying in the hospital wing by now.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]

Without the support of ritual magic, Shawn could only brew Apprentice-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria, but this was already a significant improvement over the past week.

It had been a struggle just to succeed at first.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]

Another Apprentice-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria. After several batches, Shawn paused to rest.

He was only a little proficiency away from unlocking Entry level, but Shawn was certain his magical stamina could not support him further. He pulled out a potion bottle and drank it under Professor Snape’s thoughtful gaze.

A warm current flowed through his body, and his exhausted mind began to recover.

He put the crystal bottle away. It was apple-flavoured.

Over the course of three months, with flying lessons and Professor Snape’s help in Potions, his magical power had returned to the level of a first-year student.

Compared to the days when even practising Levitation Charm would leave him drained, now he could cast silent spells repeatedly without tiring.

More importantly, Shawn felt he was approaching a crucial threshold.

Before, his body could only produce a trickle of magic, far below the normal level for a young witch or wizard. If he could cross this threshold, not only would his body recover, but his magical development would also return to normal.

All he needed—

A potion bottle appeared out of nowhere, landing in Shawn’s hands. He looked up, but Professor Snape’s face was hidden behind a sheet of parchment.

Shawn looked down at the potion. The crystal bottle was the same as before, but the potion inside was deeper in colour. Only one word was written on it: Drink.

Shawn did not hesitate. The potion—let’s call it Mystery Potion No. 2—was at least ten times more effective than the previous one.

The flavour was a rich apple.

Shawn felt a faint warmth spreading through his body. He felt as if he had already crossed that threshold. When he waved his wand and cast Lumos, the sound of Professor Snape’s roar echoed from outside the dungeon.

“Idiot! Contain your magic!”

Shawn silently lowered his wand, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Good news did not come alone.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Entry level. Proficiency +3]

Magical power clearly had a significant impact on a witch or wizard’s performance in all branches of magic.

[A new Potions domain title has been unlocked. Please check.]

Shawn looked down with anticipation:

[Title: Novice Potioneer]
[Greatly increases perception of potions; greatly enhances potion talent]
[Witch/Wizard Shawn, Potion Talent: Blue (boosted by Novice Potioneer title, original talent was White). Note: Typical witch/wizard is Green]
[Advance: Brew six Expert-level potions and six Proficient-level potions to unlock Expert-level title in Potions domain]

His talent had increased!

Shawn knew that the days of desperately searching for inspiration, the days of being cautious about every tiny mistake, the days of agonising over the timing and stirring technique, were behind him.

He could now be called half a potions prodigy, could he not?

Professor Snape’s gaze remained fixed on Shawn. He had felt the sudden surge in magical power—the fool had nearly lit up the dungeon with a hundred magical lanterns, and some ingredients needed to be stored in darkness.

At the same time, certain details kept swirling in Snape’s mind until they finally coalesced into a moment of error.

Late November in the dungeons, the chill had seeped deep into the stone walls. Snow drifted onto the castle’s edges, making a soft, soothing sound.

Shawn skilfully lit the cauldron, prepared the ingredients, added them, and stirred, waiting for them to blend.

He followed his unique intuition, constantly refining his technique as he brewed, and a quill beside him recorded his notes.

He now understood why Professor Snape was always so anxious and angry. Looking back, his own earlier attempts had been clumsy and often wrong.

[You brewed a cauldron of Elixir to Induce Euphoria at Proficient level. Proficiency +10]

Perhaps it was the result of hard work, or perhaps it was luck, but Shawn’s face lit up with joy.

A Proficient-level Elixir to Induce Euphoria, even at the lowest resale price, was worth a staggering twenty Galleons.

This meant he was now capable of brewing advanced potions independently.

Compared to the days when even brewing Boil-Cure Potion was a struggle, he was hundreds of times better.

At the coldest moment in the dungeon, Severus Snape turned away, standing at the window and staring into the frozen Black Lake.

In the cauldron before Shawn, the last red flame sank into the ash, making a faint, sighing sound.

Professor Snape did not move. He watched his breath form a mist in front of him, then dissipate into the stagnant air of the dungeon.

It was as if he was waiting for something, or had long forgotten the very act of waiting. In this corner, shunned even by ghosts, only memories and the residue of potions remained, sealing certain wounds that would never heal, in weather below zero.

He thought it was only low talent, but his own potion talent was slowly revealing itself. In a daze, he could only think of one possibility:

Suffering had given him a feeble body, destroyed his natural talent, and frozen his magical power just above the passing line.

Compared to Shawn’s quiet excitement, Professor Snape remained expressionless. For once, he asked in a calm voice:

“Why are you not angry?”

Hogwarts’ snow fell silently onto the Black Lake, onto the Forbidden Forest, onto a long winter with no letters sent. And the snow fell thicker. The flames in the cauldron rose, occasionally making a soft sound. This winter, the snow seemed to settle on Snape’s rusted trachea and lungs.

His voice was like a train stopped in its tracks, the name in his throat lingering through the long winter.

HP: I have a Proficiency Panel - 146

Chapter 146: Scarpin’s Revelaspell​

“Fine, let’s just say it’s important.”

Michael looked utterly incredulous as he turned to Shawn. “Shawn, promise me this. One Ravenclaw counting windows is more than enough.”

Shawn went quiet, thinking. Then his eyes suddenly lit up.

“Terry, may I ask…”

“Yes, yes,” Michael answered, resigned. “He trained Scarpin’s Revelaspell up to nonverbal level, so now he spends his days studying the different materials in the castle’s windows. Can you believe it? Sometimes even the rain isn’t made of the same material.”

“Sometimes the rain really is different,” Terry insisted.

“Right. Of course. Absolutely,” Michael soothed, as if calming a child.

The corner of Shawn’s mouth lifted slightly. It looked like he had found a way.

The Great Hall.

December had not even arrived yet, and Hogwarts had already been hit by gales and sleet. At times like these, the castle’s roaring fires and thick stone walls always made the students feel safe.

As Shawn talked with Terry about Scarpin’s Revelaspell, he realised this odd Ravenclaw was actually shy and modest.

Terry chased bizarre questions, but he never treated them as idle talk. The castle windows really did use different materials, and Terry even declared, “Shawn, do not laugh at me. What I mean is, the castle is alive.”

After saying it, he looked at Shawn warily. Usually, at this point, other students either tried to hold in laughter or simply looked confused.

“I believe you,” Shawn said, nodding.

Terry let out a startled sound. “I am not joking. Wait, you believe me?”

“Why would I not?” Shawn’s sincerity was plain to hear.

Terry looked as if he had been struck by lightning, then words poured out of him in a rush. “You believe me, Merlin’s beard. Then you have noticed it too, have you not? In some halls, the order of the tables changes in a pattern. They do not keep the same arrangement all the time.”

“And other rooms and areas change in patterns as well. The size and shape of some places shift…”

Shawn listened, thoughtful, and nodded along.

It was true. There were subtle changes even in the Potions classroom. In the dungeons, Shawn always felt them more keenly.

If the castle had awareness, for instance, the way it once shut Umbridge out of the Headmaster’s office, then it seemed possible that it was constantly shifting.

Terry’s enthusiasm flared with rare intensity. He talked without stopping, and Shawn listened carefully.

After a while, Terry went red, suddenly embarrassed. Why had he been talking about himself the whole time?

Seizing the last few minutes, he carefully explained, step by step, the trick to learning Scarpin’s Revelaspell.

Shawn learned a lot from Terry’s wand movement and casting rhythm. Before leaving the Great Hall, he even completed an Apprentice-level practice attempt.

Justin Finch-Fletchley could not quite keep up with what he was seeing.

On one side, Shawn was listening to a Ravenclaw ramble about the castle, and Justin edged closer. Yes, he was curious about Hogwarts too, that was all.

On the other side, Harry and Ron were showing Seamus their recent “results”.

Harry demonstrated a Levitation Charm strong enough to float fruit, and an Aguamenti that had finally produced a small spring of water.

Ron was a bit behind, but he had been encouraged by Professor Flitwick and even earned a point, so he was glowing with confidence and energy.

“Oh, how far have you got in Charms? You do not know either? That’s a bit tragic, honestly.”

Ron only had an Apprentice-level Levitation Charm and an Entry-level Lumos, but it did not stop him from feeling as if he had something other students did not.

He still could not believe spells could be this straightforward. He could not believe he could actually track his own progress.

He had always thought it was all a blur. Professors taught in a blur, students sat exams in a blur, and in the end, you got a mark that let you stumble through.

When Seamus asked, wide-eyed, what Ron meant by progress, Ron put on an all-knowing expression and started spinning all sorts of strange explanations.

Kids their age always loved showing off. Even though nobody had leaked a word about the Hope Room, Shawn felt the attention around him growing a lot warmer.

As soon as he left the Great Hall, Seamus came up, blushing. He was clearly frightened, yet also seemed to have been egged on by someone. He stammered, “Great Shawn, can you make me smarter? I am not asking for much. I just want my wand to stop exploding, that’s all.”

Hearing something that ridiculous, Shawn sighed. It was like he had been surrounded by Weasleys three times in a row.

To the resident demolition expert, he said gently, “Everyone has something they are good at, Mr Finnigan. Perhaps you just have not found the right way to use it yet.”

…

Not long after, inside the Hope Room.

A glass cabinet sat on Shawn’s desk. He had made it with Transfiguration to store the dozens of materials Professor Tyra had given him.

[You practised Scarpin’s Revelaspell at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]
[You practised Scarpin’s Revelaspell at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]
[You practised Scarpin’s Revelaspell at Apprentice level. Proficiency +1]
…

Under Shawn’s relentless practice, Scarpin’s Revelaspell unlocked quickly. He stepped out of the Hope Room, flicked his wand, and a sheet of parchment became an owl that flew towards Professor Tyra’s office.

The professor might not receive it immediately, but Shawn’s owl would linger for days. He used Transfiguration because Professor Tyra encouraged him to correspond with her through all sorts of transfigured messengers, especially the more “imaginative” ones.

…

Unlike the Great Hall’s roaring fires and thick walls, the winter dungeons offered warmth only from cauldrons.

Severus Snape sat in the cold like a frozen black silhouette. His fingertips rested on a sheet of parchment on the wooden table, its corners curling slightly from the cauldron’s steam.

He was the first to know this knowledge, and the only one.

His gaze passed through the dancing flames, yet focused on nothing real, as if it had fallen into some cold memory far away.

A long time passed. The cauldron bubbled, then popped, like a thought that surfaced for an instant and was swallowed again. Snape did not move. It was as if all of November’s chill had settled into the depths of his black eyes.

Beside the parchment lay a roster book. On one line, after a name, several words had been written:

[Guardian: None]

That ceaseless voice still seemed to echo in his ears. He told himself it was simply that he could no longer tolerate that fool’s idiocy.

His fingertip traced over a distant, unfamiliar place called London.

Then there came a soft knock at the dungeon door.