Chapter 205: Pure-Blood Muggles and Artificial Bloodlines
The two of them found a quiet, uncrowded café diagonally across from St. Mungo's, ordered a few items, and settled into a secluded corner.
"What did you talk to Drummond about?" Cyril asked. The hospital had been too crowded for such a conversation.
"Just some specifics about using the potion, what to do in case of complications, that sort of thing," Ethan replied quietly.
"Excuse me."
He fell silent as a burly male server approached with their order. "Enjoy," the man said, setting down the coffee and pastries before departing.
Once the server was out of earshot, Ethan finished answering the earlier question. Cyril listened and nodded. "Doesn't sound like anything I can't handle. I understand. When we get back from Egypt, I'll pay Drummond another visit."
"Mm. Should we try a different café? Something about this place feels off." Since Cyril's back was to the counter, he hadn't noticed the server who'd brought their food stealing glances their way, but Ethan had caught him at it.
"Off how?" Cyril asked, looking around subtly.
"That server keeps glancing our way," Ethan said.
"Then let's finish up quickly. We can talk more when I'm back tomorrow. I'm heading to the airport straight from here. I should have everything arranged and be back by tomorrow afternoon. We'll leave for Egypt the day after." Cyril outlined the schedule for the next couple of days.
Ethan thought the timeline was a bit aggressive, but since Cyril had pushed for an early discharge specifically to leave for Egypt sooner, he didn't object. "Alright. Let me give you a few vials of the potion before you go, just in case something delays your return and you miss a dose."
"Good idea." Cyril took a sip of his coffee, then set the cup down with a slightly puzzled expression. Ethan bit into the pastry and frowned as well.
"I should be going. We'll sort out the rest when I'm back." Cyril accepted the three vials of potion from Ethan, paid the bill hastily, and left.
Ethan followed shortly after, watching Cyril's taxi pull away. He glanced back at the shop's sign. The cake he'd bitten into was clearly stale, a telltale sign it had been sitting out too long. Ethan found it baffling. A normal business, in such a prime location, serving food this bad?
Standing outside, he looked at the old red-brick department store across the street, and suddenly a thought struck him. *Could this place be a Muggle surveillance post watching St. Mungo's?* The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed. A legitimate shop with food this terrible should have gone under long ago. He glanced back through the glass front and saw the server, now clearing their table, looking directly at him.
*Have I been made? Time to go. I'll write to the Ministry as soon as I get home.* A jolt of anxiety ran through him, and he turned and walked swiftly away.
"What a strange kid," the burly server muttered under his breath, glancing at the nearly untouched food and then at Ethan's rapidly retreating figure.
"What's going on?" A low, tense male voice crackled through his earpiece.
"The kid who just left glanced at me, but I don't think we're blown," the server replied quietly, stacking dishes onto a tray. "Boss, are we sure this con artist is even in the area? We've been staking out this place for three days and haven't seen a trace of him."
"Stow it. Stay on mission."
"Copy that."
Once home, Ethan promptly wrote a letter and sent it with Edward to the Ministry of Magic. His concern wasn't so much that the Muggle government might take action against him personally, but rather that the men in the café weren't government agents at all. That would be a far more troubling prospect.
Edward returned swiftly, bearing a Ministry receipt: "Your correspondence has been received. We will investigate the matter promptly."
Ethan tossed the receipt aside and returned to organizing his various potion ingredients.
At that very moment, a team from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol arrived at the café Ethan had just vacated.
"Captain," one of the wizards reported after a quick investigation, "they're Muggle law enforcement. They're staking out a Muggle criminal and inadvertently overheard part of a conversation between the two Shafiqs through a listening device. They caught some talk about potions and spells. Should we contact the Obliviators to erase their recent memories?"
"Yes, handle that," the captain replied. "And have the Ministry coordinate with the Muggle government to get them out of this area. It's far too close to St. Mungo's. It's a serious breach risk."
"Yes, sir."
"Right, you lot deal with this. I'm going to visit some old acquaintances in the hospital."
Ethan remained blissfully unaware that his report had resulted in several Muggles losing parts of their memories and had, once again, helped preserve the increasingly fragile International Statute of Secrecy, preventing the exposure of the magical world to a handful of police officers.
He was now focused on using the remaining time before the Egypt trip to brew the final bloodline potion. While it was the last in the series, it actually consisted of two separate vials. One of them was dependent on the user's specific condition.
The entire regimen was composed of three parts. The first nine potions, which Ethan called the Bloodline Activation Elixirs, formed one set. The final potion, called the Magical Surge Elixir, was the second part. The optional extra vial was the Artificial Bloodline Elixir.
As the names implied, the nine activation elixirs were a progressive series designed to activate and stimulate the dormant magical blood within a Muggle or a Squib. After completing the nine-dose course in the prescribed order, Muggles who possessed even a trace of wizarding ancestry should theoretically reach a state similar to that of a young witch or wizard just before their first magical outburst.
At that point, they would take the Magical Surge Elixir, which would simulate the natural magical surge and, ideally, transform a Muggle into a true wizard. Squibs might react slightly differently, as they lacked the ability to channel magic but were not devoid of it entirely. They might progress even further and develop magical abilities without needing the final elixir.
The actual spellcasting aptitude of wizards created through this method, however, remained an open question. The strongest among them might be indistinguishable from a natural-born wizard. The weakest, however, might be only marginally more capable than a Squib. But regardless of the degree, they would possess the ability to cast spells, something a Squib could only dream of doing without the aid of a wand.
This entire process, however, was predicated on the user having at least some wizarding heritage. There was, of course, another potential scenario: the Pure-Blood Muggle.
Just as wizards were categorized as pure-blood, half-blood, or Muggle-born, Muggles could theoretically be classified along similar lines: Pure-Blood, Half-Blood, and Wizard-Born. Wizard-born Muggles were simply Squibs, the non-magical children of wizards. Half-Blood Muggles, in the broad sense, referred to Muggles with some distant wizarding ancestry. Pure-Blood Muggles, then, would be those whose lineage had never, at any point in recorded history, intermingled with a magical bloodline. They were Muggles through and through.
Whether such individuals truly existed was debatable. In ancient times, before the Statute of Secrecy, wizards and Muggles had lived side by side and intermarried freely. However, since the entire purpose of Ethan's potion project was to transform his own parents, he could not afford to ignore the possibility.
This consideration had driven him to develop an additional potion. Drawing upon Nathaniel's radical and often unhinged experiments, Ethan had devised the Artificial Bloodline Elixir. Beyond its primary function of granting a magical bloodline to a Muggle of Pure-Blood descent, this potion had a secondary application: reinforcing a weak existing bloodline. If a Muggle's natural magical heritage was too diluted, they would likely become, at best, a wizard of very limited power, little better than a Squib, unless a spontaneous mutation occurred. If such a deficiency could be identified beforehand, the individual could opt to take the Artificial Bloodline Elixir to cultivate a new, more potent bloodline and thereby become a fully competent wizard.
This, however, was purely theoretical. Ethan had no way of knowing whether the artificial bloodline would conflict with the user's original magical signature, no matter how weak.
And another problem occurred to him as he worked. How do you even determine if a Muggle's bloodline is too thin?
The answer was testing. With enough trials, a reliable method for assessment would emerge. If necessary, he could develop new potions or spells to address the findings. He filed the issue away for later; it was not his immediate priority.
Despite the air conditioning in his room, working over an open flame on a hot summer day while clad in unmodified dragon-hide protective gear left him drenched in sweat. *I can walk through fire unharmed, so why am I still susceptible to heat?* he wondered, feeling his immunity was somewhat flawed.
*Finally done.* He looked at the potion in the cauldron, a deep, vibrant red, and quickly peeled off the stifling protective clothing. This was the Artificial Bloodline Elixir. The bloodline it contained was derived from the specially altered blood of the fire salamanders left over from the previous day.
The first time he had witnessed Snape use the Blood-Drawing Spell, he had realized that the blood extracted in that manner was, at its core, the very essence of the creature's magical bloodline. Nathaniel's writings had confirmed this theory. Based on that principle, he had used the salamander blood as the foundation for his first artificial bloodline potion.
After a cool shower, he stood before the eleven vials of potion in their various colors, contemplating who he might use as test subjects.
The full course takes thirty days and cannot be interrupted. He would need to observe the subjects closely and adjust the formulas based on their reactions. If he wanted to run a trial during summer break, he had two options. He could find a willing participant in Egypt, or he could return early and, as Snape suggested, negotiate with the Ministry to test on convicted prisoners.
The first option seemed impractical. Keeping a Muggle or Squib with him for a month while searching for a hidden pyramid in the desert was a logistical nightmare. His focus, therefore, shifted to the second plan. As he decanted the large flask of potion into smaller doses, he pondered the steps he would need to take upon their return. Using prisoners for testing required prior authorization. He'd need to ask his dear Professor Snape about the specific procedures. He was familiar with the process.
He wasn't in any rush to begin the trials. His parents were still young, and a month or two's delay was of little consequence. Despite the low odds of conducting a trial in Egypt, he packed two full courses of the potions, just in case.
The next afternoon, shortly after lunch, Cyril returned. "Come with me to the manor in a bit. I need to pick up some gold and a few defensive artifacts I've acquired. We can leave directly from your house tomorrow." He looked weary.
"Why don't you rest first? There's plenty of time."
Cyril shook his head. "Let's get there and back quickly. I can rest after we return."
Ethan didn't argue further. He took hold of Cyril's arm, and with a soft crack of Apparition, they arrived at Shafiq Manor. Ethan casually stuffed roughly a pound of gold into his bag, and they headed to the study.
"These should look familiar," Cyril said, gesturing to a collection of items. "Like the ones Dumbledore gave you. Tap your wand on them, and they'll transfigure into various animals. Useful for intercepting curses and for scouting ahead. These are specifically designed to ward off curses, so keep them close. The pyramids are often filled with ancient Egyptian curses meant for grave robbers. And these others have various functions..."
Cyril went on to explain the purpose of each artifact, demonstrating their use to ensure Ethan understood. By the time he finished describing the last item, evening had fallen.
"Alright, pack these away. We'll sort them out once we reach Egypt." Cyril extinguished the lamps and Apparated them both back to Ethan's home.
The next morning, Cyril skipped breakfast before taking his potion. At Cyril's villa, Ethan watched as his grandfather drank the healing potion with a visible grimace.
"Grandfather, you barely flinched the first time. Why does it seem so much worse today?" Ethan asked, puzzled by Cyril's expression.
"Because back then, my sense of taste was dulled. I couldn't taste the bitterness properly." Cyril wiped his mouth and looked up. "Wait, so you couldn't taste your food properly?"
"Some things, yes. But mostly, no." Cyril shook his head. "I put on a pretty good act, didn't I?"
*Too good. I had absolutely no idea.*
Though his words were light, Ethan felt a pang of sadness. Cyril had been suffering from so many ailments, yet he had never once let it show to Ethan. He likely would have taken that secret to his grave if the Black Lizard potion hadn't started to restore him.
The reaction to this dose lasted about an hour, just like before. Ethan acted as the Healer, recording the data from this session.
According to Drummond, this dose should be roughly equivalent to a second dose for a typical patient. "How do you feel now? Any better?"
Cyril took stock of his body and smiled. "Much better. Even if the potion's effects stop here and I'm not fully cured, I'd wager I've got at least another twenty good years left in me."
"That's wonderful news." Ethan felt a surge of genuine happiness. While eighty wasn't exceptionally old for a wizard, extending a man's life by twenty years when he had only expected to live to sixty was a tremendous victory. And once his injuries were fully healed, there would be other avenues to explore to extend his life even further.
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