Chapter 222 - 221. An Uninvited Guest.

Chapter 221. An Uninvited Guest.

After copying all the books into the Grimoire, Severus asked a few more questions before leaving, roughly half of which the core refused to answer, citing insufficient access privileges. They mostly concerned the Founders: their secrets—specifically, personal research, spells, certain moments in their history, the precise cause and date of each death.

The same applied to Alannón. Beyond a handful of general facts, the artifact offered nothing more, once again citing access restrictions. But even the scraps it had given were enough to draw several conclusions. First, the man’s power had exceeded that of all four Founders combined. Second, he was not from this country; Godric had met him while traveling abroad in his youth. Third, and following from the second, he must have been considerably older than Gryffindor, since he was already an old man at their first meeting, and the Founders themselves had lived exceptionally long lives by this world’s standards, after which Alannón had gone on to lead Hogwarts for another fifty years.

Whether the man still lived, Severus couldn’t say. Too many factors stood between him and a clear answer, and among the most significant was the question of elixirs: through them, Flamel had survived for more than six centuries.

But he meant to gather whatever information existed about Alannón. He hadn’t brought the Black Star to heel for nothing. It was time to put the organization to work.

Rather than walking back to his room, Severus decided to test the castle’s movement ability the core had unlocked. It was far more pleasant than Apparition, though it didn’t quite equal his own equivalent.

As for the map, he could access it from nearly anywhere in the castle, but he had no intention of throwing away the three idiots’ little pamphlet either. It was more detailed, if less convenient, and the rat locator courtesy of Peter Pettigrew more than made up for that drawback.

Several days later. Hospital wing.

He had been sitting at the table for nearly an hour in complete silence, watching Slughorn and Pomfrey. Both held small stacks of handwritten papers, occasionally nodding, frowning, or raising their eyebrows at something, almost in unison.

"This is not the final version," he said once they finally looked up at him. He turned his gaze to Pomfrey. "Using the book you gave me, along with the results from St. Mungo’s on the application of the Anti-Dragon Serum in affected patients, observations from every stage of recovery, including all recorded side effects, and the collected samples, I was able to refine it. I’ve raised the success rate to eighty-seven point five percent. For now, that figure is theoretical."

"Mr. Severus." Her admiration was entirely undisguised. "This is a genuinely fascinating approach. But how did you figure out that white fern in particular could help suppress this magical virus? The finest Healers in Britain and France spent months studying the disease and the serum without reaching any conclusions. And yet a student has managed to accomplish what they could not."

"Muggle literature and an improved microscope. White fern has several secondary properties beyond its suppressive effect: the ones everyone tends to overlook."

"Detoxification," Slughorn finished for him, still thoughtful, stroking his chin as he continued scanning the list of forty-two ingredients in the Anti-Dragon Pox Serum. "And through Asmus root, which is rarely used in potions, you amplified the white fern’s effect. That’s why the serum became measurably more potent."

"Beyond that, he also changed the method of administration. Direct injection into the chest. During illness, the body’s magic is highly active and concentrates primarily in the chest region while fighting the magical virus. By introducing the serum there, it not only spreads through the entire body almost immediately but also strikes the virus immediately. And if the procedure is repeated over seven days, no, not eighty-seven percent. That’s a full ninety!"

"The rate depends on the severity of the case. The range is from eighty-five to ninety percent. I chose the midpoint," he explained it calmly, smiling a little at Pomfrey’s animated expression. "And the study is still unfinished. I think another four months should be enough to bring the serum to completion."

"You already have ideas?" Slughorn looked at him with an eager gleam, genuine excitement rising on his face.

Slughorn was delighted for his student, of course, but even more so for himself. Whatever face the wizard tried to present to the world, he was, at heart, a thoroughly vain man. That same quality was why he loved surrounding himself with talented and successful people. Beyond the extensive connections it brought him in every sphere, he would have been very pleased indeed to be known as the man who had cultivated the Potions prodigy of the Cauldron, the one who had refined the Anti-Dragon Pox Serum. It would bring fame not only to Severus, but to his teacher as well.

Beyond that, whatever small trace of self-interest may have coloured Horace’s early motives, over the years he had grown genuinely attached to Severus. The boy reminded him of himself: one of a kind, driven by a hunger for knowledge, with a sincere and deep love of Potions.

For that reason, Slughorn had resolved to support this young man in all his endeavours. And warming himself in the light of someone else’s glory was something he had absolutely no objection to. He had no intention whatsoever of letting an opportunity like this slip through his fingers.

"Yes, but the ideas need further analysis. Three months for the refinements, one month for the patent filing and Ministry of Magic review, one more for trials, and by the end of June it should be ready for testing on human subjects. Right on time for the O.W.L. defense." With each word, the eyes of both wizards grew wider and wider, threatening to pop out of their sockets entirely. "Something like that."

"This..." Slughorn simply had no idea how to respond. He looked rather like a fish that had been thrown onto a riverbank. "Astonishing?"

"Severus, are you certain you can manage this?" Pomfrey pulled herself together and asked with a note of genuine worry in her voice, though she fully shared Slughorn’s reaction. She was ninety-nine point nine percent certain it was simply impossible, but she kept that opinion to herself. When the time comes, he’ll understand it on his own. Let it be a lesson for the future.

"Even if I can’t, I believe what I already have should be enough to satisfy the defense requirements. Am I right?" He shifted his gaze to Slughorn, who nodded blankly in reply. "Then there’s nothing to worry about." Severus smiled, and a pocket watch appeared in his hand. "Well, if you have no further questions, I’ll be off. Curfew is in forty minutes, and I still need to bathe and feed Lucky."

"Yes, of course. You may go." Pomfrey reverted to formal address. "Do you mind if we keep these notes for now? I’d like to read through everything again and check it over."

"I agree," Slughorn added.

"Of course. Then I won’t keep you any longer. Good night, Madam Pomfrey." A nod in her direction. "Professor Slughorn." A nod toward him, and then he turned and walked to the door.

The two wizards watched his retreating back and simultaneously arrived at the same thought.

A monster. It was the only word that fit. His talent was simply too extraordinary.

In the space of an hour, both of them, masters in their respective fields, had managed to work through only the main points of the research. The sheer volume of work Severus had produced in five short months, assuming he had begun work on the Anti-Dragon Pox Serum back in September, had genuinely astonished both of them. And alongside that astonishment came genuine pride that it was they who had had a hand in shaping such a monster.

After leaving the hospital wing, Severus climbed the stairs and made his way toward the third-floor corridor. He no longer paid the girls’ lavatory any particular attention as he passed.

Hm. For a moment he felt a focused gaze settle on him from somewhere nearby, and a few seconds later a faint, almost imperceptible smile crept onto his face of its own accord.

Had it been anyone else, he would not have allowed himself to be followed. But this particular person was the one individual he could permit to see where he was headed.

Along the way Severus didn’t encounter a single soul, not only because the hour was already late but also because this stretch of the third floor was almost entirely unused.

At last he arrived. Standing a meter from the girls’ lavatory, he began pressing bricks in a specific sequence, then drew his wand, wrote a particular word in the air at the center stone, and the wall shuddered and scraped open, revealing a passage with a spiral staircase leading downward. He stepped through immediately and began to descend, and a few seconds later a white silhouette slipped in behind him.

The moment Severus reached the bottom and entered the room, a mildly displeased female voice met him.

"You certainly didn’t rush to visit me again." Ravenclaw fixed him with a reproachful look.

"I was on winter break. And since when am I required to report to you?" He gave an indifferent hum, crossed to the desk, and settled into the chair. "I’ve come with news: whether it’s good or bad is for you to decide." A parchment appeared in his hand, which he tossed upward.

"Hm?" Ravenclaw looked slightly puzzled, but focused her attention on the parchment now hovering before her. The moment she saw it, her eyes went wide. She recognized the handwriting instantly. "Where did you get this?" she asked, swallowing, her voice unsteady. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the letter.

"In the room with the castle’s core." At those words she went completely still, as though unable to believe what she had just heard.

"How?"

"By accident."

"I see." She exhaled quietly, her voice subdued now, and a bitter smile settled on her lips. "So he didn’t survive either." She raised her head and closed her eyes. Two solitary tears traced their way down her cheeks.

"No. But he managed to protect this place in the end, reaching Severus somehow at the last moment. I couldn’t extract much about him from the core, though. Perhaps you could tell me more?"

"Alannón. He was our teacher." She gathered herself after a few seconds. The image that surfaced in her memory was of a kindly old man in a white cloak, his beard entirely white and reaching to his waist, and he stroked it with an absent, thoughtful air. "At Godric’s request, he spent ten years teaching the three of us—myself, Helga, and Salazar—magic far beyond what we had known. It was entirely because of him that we became the most powerful wizards in this country. But I can’t tell you any more."

"An oath?" She gave a silent nod, lost for a moment in the memory of the time when they had all still been alive. "A shame. I’ll look for information on my own, then. But what do you think: could he still be alive, more than nine hundred years after your death?"

"I don’t know. He was a very mysterious man. But I doubt it. Even then, he was already very old."

"Very well. Thank you for sharing that with me." Severus rose from the desk and stretched slightly.

"You’re leaving already?" Ravenclaw caught him turning toward the exit and asked, with a reluctance she didn’t entirely conceal.

"Curfew is soon, and I need to be back in the common room by ten." He glanced at the clock above the door and answered evenly. "Besides, I brought someone with me. Or rather, she followed me here."

Ravenclaw looked mildly surprised. She couldn’t sense anyone beyond the door or on the staircase, as though someone were playing a joke at her expense, and she said so plainly, sending a disgruntled look in his direction.

"Stop hiding. I’ve already sealed the exit. You won’t be able to pass through the walls to escape." He turned his palm toward the door and cast a Summoning Charm.

"Enough!" A sharp, frightened female voice rang out, and in the next instant, a translucent white figure shot through the door into the room. At the sight of it, Ravenclaw’s lips began to tremble, and in her eyes, beyond raw disbelief bordering on incomprehension, nothing else could be read.

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