The room exuded an air of age and mystery.
The light was dim and gloomy.
Specks of dust drifted lazily through the faint light.
The black-robed skeleton seemed to prefer such an environment. Sometimes, after Ian left, she would alter the decorations to suit her own tastes.
"I don't even know your name."
Ian's gaze fell directly on the skeleton, and a wave of melancholy welled up inside him. The once radiant and lively goddess had been reduced to nothing more than a frame of white bones.
How could he not be deeply moved by such a transformation? The gods were dead, the demons extinguished. The changes in this world were beyond anyone's prediction.
Ian couldn't help but wonder: What had happened to this black-robed skeleton, and to those so-called gods? What reduced beings once so mighty and invincible to their current state?
At this thought, his eyes naturally shifted to the wand in his hand. They were filled with inquiry as he muttered inwardly,
"Could the skeletal goddess's power be sealed within this wand?"
The wand's core was a raven's feather. According to Merlin, it contained the essence of the gods' power. Perhaps the divine power of the black-robed skeleton had been absorbed into it as well.
"So this wand holds godly authority, then..." Ian gave it a casual flick. But apart from a faint stirring of the air, there was none of the wondrous Sun Divine Power he had hoped for.
He wasn't really surprised. It had only been a passing whim to "borrow" some power. Unfortunately, the wand gave no response to his request.
Perhaps it was precisely because the wand was attuned to his heart and knew he was the kind of wizard who never returned what he "borrowed." Ian pursed his lips in disappointment.
"You and I are connected heart to heart. Don't play tricks on me; just lend me some strength. It won't cost you even a splinter of wood."
When persuasion failed, Ian promptly tucked the wand behind his back, being as petty as ever. If he couldn't get what he wanted, at least his wand would "eat his exhaust."
"You really don't remember anything from the past? Not even the five million tons of gold you owe me? Fine, then remember it now, and don't forget it in the future."
Ian tried once again to speak with the black-robed skeleton. His questions about her and the gods met with the same result as always: a stammered "I don't know." For the umpteenth time, Ian heard her familiar refrain:
"I need love. Love can...can give me flesh, make me grow a brain..."
Perhaps the skeleton had grown clever, knowing to use her "brain" as bait to spur Ian's enthusiasm. The implication was clear: If Ian gave her flesh and she had a brain, then she could answer his questions.
That much Ian could understand.
But he had no idea how to do that. After a moment of hesitation, he tried something: He cupped her bony skull and kissed it a few times.
Yet,
Nothing happened.
"I knew it. This is useless!" Ian muttered, consoling himself that at least it wasn't a total loss; the skeletal goddess had once been beautiful, after all. Still, he couldn't help but feel completely at a loss.
The black-robed skeleton didn't react much to the kisses. She could offer no guidance or suggestion on what he should do in response to his helpless attempts.
"Flesh..."
She lowered her head and absently stroked the Dementor. That faint, almost wistful whisper left Ian even more exasperated. Was his love not enough? Did she expect him to stick out his tongue and lick her bones?
This was perverted and disgusting!
"I'll have to think of another way..." Ian muttered, shaking his head, as he walked toward the back of the room. The entire Room of Requirement was filled with the bitter, distinctive aroma of potions.
Those were the potions Ian had been refining before crossing over to the past timeline. However, since his timing for stirring and other operations hadn't been the best, the potions were no longer perfect.
Some had even been boiled beyond repair. That was the way of potion making; even the slightest difference in timing could cause months of effort to go up in smoke.
"This debt should be chalked up to Riddle." Ian tallied his losses, multiplied the number by ten, and wrote it down in his notebook as compensation for his wasted time.
If Riddle survived, Ian planned to make him pay every Knut of that debt. And if Riddle didn't... well, that would be even better for him.
Once the Twilight Zone disappeared, Ian could feast on Riddle for a lifetime!
"All good stuff...uncle-quality collectibles...and all ruined." Ian crouched down to inspect the dozen or so cauldrons of failed potions.
Some still had a chance at salvage.
Without hesitation, he began working to save what he could. The final products weren't of great quality, but they were passable. He bottled everything and neatly slapped on labels that read "Snape's Finest."
"These will sell well enough in Diagon Alley's apothecaries." Ian was all about timely damage control, making sure to recoup his losses. Then he turned to the cauldrons that had been completely ruined.
The liquids in some were so cloudy that they were completely ruined. Complete failures. But Hogwarts' Idea King wouldn't be stumped so easily.
Sure enough, Ian pulled out a few new ingredients.
"There's no such thing as a failed potion, only a Potions Master who doesn't know how to use it." He muttered this while tossing ingredients into the ruined batches. Immediately, the liquid cleared and began to glow.
Of course, this wasn't real salvation; it was nothing more than surface-level changes, like putting makeup on the potion or adding a filter. They looked like high-quality brews on the outside, but who knew what effect they'd have when swallowed? Only heaven knew.
"Perfect. The suckers in Knockturn Alley will love these." Ian's conscience didn't ache in the slightest. After all, nine out of ten wizards in Knockturn Alley were rotten to the core. The more poisonous his potions were, the faster his karmic merit points would skyrocket.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt like a genius.
Two more wins for him.
"I wonder if those dark wizards in Knockturn Alley have any rare materials in their collections. Then I could rob the rich and give to the poor." Ian sighed as he scrubbed the cauldrons.
Organizing his remaining supplies, he couldn't help but regret that he hadn't managed to bring back any high-quality potion ingredients from the past timeline.
It was like traditional Chinese medicine.
With the times changing in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds, potion ingredients were being mass cultivated. Every year, they became less potent.
That was why, if one could use time travel to collect potion ingredients from the past, it would be an excellent strategy.
"Those who toy with time are easily toyed with by time."
Ian lifted Merlin's Time-Turner and weighed it in his hand, hesitation clouding his eyes as he did so.
He knew all too well how unpredictable time travel could be; one misstep could have catastrophic consequences. His heart tangled with indecision; he found himself unable to choose.
The risk of going back in time to gather potion ingredients must be considerable. After all, who could say whether an herb plucked in the past might end up providing crucial aid to a historically pivotal figure?
After thinking it over, Ian decided that he didn't need to do that just yet. He carefully put the Time-Turner away again. At that moment, however, a glass bottle rolled out from the pile of ingredients.
(To Be Continued…)
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