Akashic Records
patreon
Harry Potter Squib Tales Chapter 30
🕑 Added 2024-02-29 18:00:06 +0000 UTCChapter 30: Cauldron bubbles
“Seems like it’s finally that time,” I mused quietly, looking at the letter Harry had sent me. He wanted to know if I knew anything about ol’ Nicholas Flamel. A bit late compared to what I remember about the story. Or was it? It’d been so long… I would have to refresh my Occlumency later and step up my training in it. It wouldn’t do to forget such important little facts like dates again.
Returning to the matter at hand, I wrote a quick summary of what I knew of the man, including a reference to the Philosopher’s Stone. I also made sure to let him know he was famous in both worlds. Then, I tied my response to Hedwig’s leg, gave her an owl treat, and let her return to Hogwarts. She gave a nod of her head at me then flew off back to her owner.
Thinking about Harry and his investigations into the Philosopher’s Stone made me turn my thoughts to alchemy, and how my own studies of it were progressing. Poorly, sad to say. I was so busy with so many things lately I’d barely had time to do more than skim the book mother had gotten me last year, let alone test or experiment with anything too complex.
It had given me plenty to think about, namely rituals after I’d read a section in the book about a ritual that would let me transmute my bodily fluids into any liquid substance I could conceive of. Best of all, the ritual was designed to make the user immune to their detrimental effects of their own transmuted fluids, so I could make my blood into acid and I wouldn’t die from it. I’d still benefit from it, of course. I could harvest my own sweat and blood for potion ingredients, or make someone have a bad day if they bit or cut me.
There were drawbacks, of course, such as not being able to make magical fluids or anything too complex, like I wasn’t able to bleed pre-made potions or soda pop but I could cry tears made of wine or olive oil. And the other downsides were pretty minor compared to some rituals. Out of all the rituals I’d learned of, that one was quite tempting, more so than any others.
I had not delved too deeply into rituals during my studies on the different types of magic I could and could not do as a Squib. Most rituals were extremely unsafe to do if you were still growing and developing. The mind and body could be violently twisted otherwise. Stories of people who aged in body but retained the mind of a child due to performing a ritual in their youth was one of the more common ones in the magical world. Plus, as a Squib, I could only do three rituals in my entire life.
Now technically, when you got right down to it, everything magical that wasn’t accidental magic was a form of ritual. After all, a ritual was, ‘a ceremony consisting of a series of actions performed according to a prescribed order.’ At least, that was the dictionary definition.
The movements of a wand combined with the spell incantation? A ritual. The stirring motions as well as the ingredients added to a potion? Another type of ritual.
However, what the magical world considered to be ‘true’ rituals was different, and more closely aligned with what the mundane world viewed them as; a bunch of geometric shapes drawn onto the floor along with reagents and catalyst materials (mundane and magical) carefully arranged during a specific time of day to do something extremely difficult to accomplish with pure wand or ‘foci’ magic alone.
Rituals were heavily regulated by the Ministry of Magic, if not outright banned. There were some good reasons for it. A lot of the old rituals involved blood and sacrifice, and were as Dark as you could get. But there were some, like the Mind Booster or the Body Strengthening ritual, that’d been banned because the Ministry didn’t want its citizens having access to superior minds or bodies.
The major – and I suspect real – reason so many rituals were banned and erased by the various magical governments? Anybody could use them. Yes, even Muggles! So long as everything was done properly, the rituals were powered by the world’s own magical energy and needed no connections to the user’s magic.
There were drawbacks. A person could only perform a certain number of rituals in their life. Didn’t matter if they weren’t the recipient of the ritual’s effect, if they’d participated in one, like say provided blood or magical power, they technically counted as having done a ritual.
The average wizard could perform seven without burdening themselves. A Squib could only do three at most. Mundane, non-magical people were capable of doing only a single ritual without risking harm to themselves.
These numbers were also important. Seven was a mystical number, while three was the number of balance. If I decided to use a ritual for myself, I’d only be able to do one, or three. I could never do just two, as the imbalance in my magic would eventually tear me to shreds. Or worse.
So why was I even bothering with researching rituals if they were so limited? Well, the answer was simple. They could still be useful for me. Having superior regeneration if wounded or sick could be a game changer! Same with super strength or magically enhanced reflexes!
‘If I’d had that last Christmas, I’d have been able to deal with those human traffickers much easier,’ I thought to myself.
And, if I was honest, there was another reason for my renewed interest. Fear. This was the year Voldemort came back, and though he failed (or would fail) to steal the Philosopher’s Stone from Hogwarts, this marked the beginning of many changes in the wizarding world. It meant I only had four years to prepare for his inevitable return, and I was not going to let Harry, Sam, Delilah or myself face that future without some sort of back up!
Acquiring lots of money through my businesses was only the first step on my list for preparing against the Death Eaters. I needed more tangible forms of power.
“Seems like it’s finally time to schedule a flight to Paris,” I muttered to myself as my thoughts came full circle after a somewhat circuitous ride.
Nicholas Flamel. A genius alchemist whose name reverberated through history, and was even known in the Muggle world despite the wizards erasing the evidence of any and all magic thanks to the Statue of Secrecy.
I wanted to meet him. I wanted to learn from him! Would I be able to make my own Philosopher’s Stone? No, probably not. But having him teach me even a little bit would make my own projects improve by leaps and bounds! If I could find a way to combine alchemy with my potion making business, I’d be satisfied.
And this was likely the last chance I’d have to do it. If the Stone really did get destroyed as Dumbledore claimed – something I had my suspicions about – then this was the last year I’d be able to meet with the Flamels.
I’d already been planning a summer trip with Sam and Delilah to celebrate my graduation from high school. Perhaps they’d like to come with me to check out the lovely beaches France was known for? Or maybe they’d like to check out their famous cooking!
For now, though, I had a meeting to attend to, and after gathering up my things, called out to Inky.
“Ready to go!” I said, and the House Elf nodded before teleporting us away to a new location.
Ever since the events over Christmas, things had changed for me. The biggest was my new-found friendship with Delilah. She had taken the revelation of magic well. My suspicions about the circumstances behind her birth? Less well. She’d ranted and raved and vowed vengeance on Lucius Malfoy and all of the Death Eaters, before calming down thanks to a second Calming Draught.
After that, I introduced her to Sam and the Finch-Fletchleys. Especially the latter. Had to let them know I wasn’t dead after the events at the party, after all. They already knew Delilah Hunt as the daughter of a friend, but knowing she was a Squib made them welcome her into our little Inner Circle. And together, we began to work on establishing my ‘herbal medicine’ business.
And it was to their home that I was now being taken to, courtesy of Inky. The House Elf popped me into a room that’d been set aside in the Finch-Fletchley’s manor just for Inky to come and go.
In exchange for this, I was giving the family a hefty discount on all my magical items. Not just potions anymore. I was making and selling a large number of defensive artifacts for the most part, as what I’d told them about the Death Eaters had spooked Josephine and Earl, and Justin’s parents had hired me to do something about warding their home.
As Squib my options were sadly limited, but I did the best I could with several amateur blood wards. Even muggles could benefit from those, so long as they had a steady supply of magical power. As for batteries for the wards’ magical energy, I’d made a bunch of runic wardstones that slurped up ambient magical power from the atmosphere.
I adjusted my tie before I left the side room and walked out to the parlor where my two new business partners were waiting.
“I hope I’m not late,” I said with a smile as I entered, nodding politely at Josephine Finch-Fletchley and Delilah Hunt, the two I’d been scheduled to meet with.
“You’re right on time,” Josephine assured me.
“Good. Little Harry sent me a letter and I had to respond to it ASAP. A time sensitive matter,” I revealed.
“Is everything alright?” Josephine asked, eyes narrowed at me. With her son being at Hogwarts alongside Harry, it made sense to me that she’d want to be kept in the loop.
“Depends on if you think a teacher trying to kill Harry during a Quidditch match is important or not,” I snarked as I sat down at the tea table. “Or the fact that the Groundskeeper is trying to illegal raise a dragon in his home? Or that I believe the Philosopher’s Stone is hidden at Hogwarts. Other than that? No, nothing’s wrong at all.”
I wasn’t Dumbledore, I didn’t see the need to keep everything hidden from my allies. Some of my knowledge would remain my own, but there were certain facts I felt were safe enough to be spoken about with others.
“What?” Delilah uttered incredulously, staring at me in a deadpan while Josephine’s expression was one of horrified disbelief.
“Snape – the utterly incompetent Potions Teacher – apparently tried to Hex Harry’s broom during a Quidditch game between Gryffindor and Slytherin. As for the dragon, well, Hagrid the Groundskeeper has always been… odd when it comes to what we normal and rational folk would consider dangerous animals. And the Philosopher’s Stone is just my guess, since Harry is asking about Nicholas Flamel.”
“Nicholas Flamel… you mean he’s real?” Delilah asked, surprised.
“Yes. And he’s still alive. He did invent a means of maintaining his youth, after all,” I said.
“Why would something so valuable be kept at Hogwarts?” Josephine demanded, deciding to latch onto the least immediately dangerous bombshell I’d dropped on her.
“If I had to guess? Bait,” I admitted. “I told you how Moldy Shorts was killed, right? Well, the thing is… I, and a few others, don’t actually believe he’s dead. Merely… corporeally challenged.”
“He’s a ghost?” Delilah asked while the older woman spluttered. “The biggest, baddest terrorist in decades and he’s still alive?”
“‘Alive’ is probably too strong a word for his current status,” I replied. “But yes. That seems to be the case. And the Stone is bait to lure him into a trap, no doubt.”
“How could he have survived? I thought you said he exploded!” Delilah demanded.
“Ghosts exist, and there are plenty of ways to achieve a long life in the magical world. But I don’t know the specifics behind his survival, though I have my suspicions,” I stated.
“Let’s… can we discuss something else?” Josephine asked as she rubbed at her temples. “I don’t want to think about immortal, undead wizard terrorists right now.”
“Quite. We can jibber in fear later,” Delilah agreed after a moment. “Right now, it’s money time. Well, Edward? What do you have for us today?”
“Three new potions,” I informed them. “My Wiggenweld Cream works like a charm as you’ve no doubt seen, and my hair growth potion-turned-cream is ready to hit the shelves as soon as I have a large stock built up and a store to sell it in. And of course, there’s my ‘all natural and organic’ soap that’s basically the Scourgify spell in a bottle, as well as wart and boil removers. But these three new potions will be marketed more for the pharmaceutical market than the consumer one.”
“First, we have Skele-Gro. It can fix and regrow bones, be they broken or outright missing. One vial can restore all the bones in your arm within twenty-four hours, although it hurts immensely,” I said, placing the first bottle down on the table in front of us. The potion was the color of spoilt milk, and tasted about as bad. “It can heal more than just bone, of course. Cartilage is also fixable. Tiny ear bones end up damaged? Healed! Broken nose? Healed! You still have to set the broken bone, of course, or else it will heal wrong, but we’re looking at a recovery period of mere hours instead of days.”
I smiled to myself as Delilah and Josephine stared intensely at the vial on the table.
“Next, we have the Corpus Potion, a potion capable of undoing the damage done to a person’s organs and fleshy bits. From fixing lungs to soothing stomach ulcers, to even restoring eyesight and hearing,” I said. “It can’t cure cancer or genetic damage, but things like Black Lung, Appendicitis, heart attacks, blindness, deafness, and way more, are all within its scope.” This potion that I put down was a nasty black, tar-like goo that reportedly tasted like raw tripe.
“And last but not least, what is commonly known as the Pensieve potion,” I continued, bringing out my last potion. It was thick and silver, like mercury, and tasted like rotten eggs. “Named after the magical artifact, this potion is capable of fixing brain damage. Minor aneurysms, strokes, memory loss from amnesia or otherwise, concussions, and of course, headaches. It can cure all of those!”
Seeing my business partners’ shocked expressions brought a grin to my face. “There’s an even more potent version that I believe can fix dementia and other major brain illnesses like schizophrenia and Alzheimer’s, but the ingredients for that one are far beyond my current budget. Hell, even getting the materials for this single trial sample cost more than any other potion I’ve done. I’m talking a thousand pounds, minimum, for the cheapest and weakest version of those brews.”
“And best of all, each and every potion you see here was brewed by Sam,” I concluded proudly. My best friend had come a long way since he’d learned about the magical world and he’d begged me to teach him the subtle art of potion making. “They use magical ingredients and a magical stirring rod as a catalyst, but the fact a non-magical person was able to make all three turn out perfectly shows the idea for mass production is not an impossible dream anymore.”
“I don’t believe it,” Josephine muttered in awe.
“Seriously, though, all of these are literal goldmines! Guaranteed money makers!” Delilah declared, holding up one of my potions. “Take this one for instance! It’s a potion that instantly fixes concussions and migraines! And you claim that they have a stronger version for healing all sorts of more severe brain related afflictions, like dementia and Alzheimer’s?”
“Most magical folk don’t tend to get as many mundane afflictions or even injuries like the rest of us do, but yes, I am well aware of how utterly ridiculously valuable these things are,” I affirmed.
“I’m surprised. They seem so… I hate to say ‘backwards,’ but that’s what their culture just screams to me,” Josephine said, shooting me an apologetic glance.
“No need to tell me twice,” I grunted.
“Anyways, if there’s one thing the Wizarding World has more experience in curing than the Mundane side does, it’s head trauma, thanks to those crazy broomstick sports of theirs,” I continued while sipping at the tea Josephine had provided. “Problem is, they’re expensive because they use magical ingredients, and it will take a lot of experimentation to find out mundane analogs for them, if that’s even possible at all in the first place.”
“A single one of these potions would make a company millions of pounds, at the very least. We’re looking at billions if we manage to produce all of them in large enough quantities,” Delilah murmured excitedly.
“I think, before we start counting chickens, we get our eggs in some baskets,” Josephine suggested. “The potential profits will mean zilch if we can’t provide these potions. And for that, we need ingredients. And as you said, Edward, these need magical ingredients, unlike the ones your other potions use.”
“I agree,” I said. “I can’t keep sourcing materials from the Wizarding World. Not solely, and not for the more mundane ones. We need to start finding ways to harvest the resources from non-magical contracts.”
“Growing the herbs will be easy enough. Even the rowan tree bark is simple to acquire. But the teeth, hair, and blood of different animals will be hard to farm without raising eyebrows,” Josephine commented.
“I know. That’s why I worked as hard as I did to invent purely mundane plant and mineral-based concoctions,” I reminded her. “It makes the potions less potent, of course, but I’ve done it. At the very least we can market the goods as ‘cruelty free.’”
“That is a good selling point. People lap that up,” the matriarch of the Finch-Fletchley household mused.
“Speaking of marketing, I have good news for you in regards to your business endeavors,” Delilah said.
“Really? Does that mean…?” I trailed off eagerly, and the young woman smirked at me, flipping her silver hair over her shoulder.
“Congrats,” Delilah said, handing me some documents. “Your products have been tested and approved by the MHRA, and the patents have been filed. With a little bit of nudging from my father and British Chemical Concerns to speed it up, of course. Add this in with the successful trademarking and establishment of Cauldron Remedies LLC, and you’re ready for business. Once your licenses come in.”
I took the files and carefully read them over. Everything seemed to be in order, with the proper signatures and stamps applied.
It was hard to describe the feelings I felt at that moment. This had been my goal, my dream, for years now, and it was finally in reach. I felt… pride. And excitement. This was just the beginning, however. I’d finally reached the starting line after a long, arduous road of grueling training. Time to gear up and get serious.
My paperwork going through so quickly and smoothly was thanks entirely to Delilah. I had no delusions about it being otherwise. Without her father’s connections, it wouldn’t have been possible. Her father owed me big time for rescuing her, and I’d only met the man once in a face-to-face meeting, but that was enough, and Delilah had also ended up clinging to me afterwards.
Perhaps it was because she felt safe around me. Maybe it was due to the fact I was the closest connection she had to her magical side, now that she knew the circumstances behind her birth. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care.
Delilah had killed a man to save my life. I couldn’t – wouldn’t! – simply abandon her after that. And, I would admit, I liked her company. She was smart with a biting tongue. Plus, she had a dry wit and her business savvy exceeded my own by leaps and bounds. We were using each other for our own benefits, and I could care less.
And so, after that fateful Christmas eve where we first met, we started to work together. We were going to take the world by storm! And the first step was getting my potion business up and running. And I needed Delilah’s father for that.
My ‘old fashioned’ medicine was superior to anything else boasting the same effects on the mundane markets. I knew this. To get my creations through what would normally be years of close scrutiny and testing had cost me a few hefty concessions, such as binding myself to Delilah’s father, Michael Hunt, and Sir Jonah Briar, the aging oligarch who owned British Chemical Concerns via the massive investment corporation of Gladstone Financial.
Sure, they owned my business and several of my intellectual properties, but it’d been a necessary sacrifice to speed up my plans so they’d actually be viable within a few years. And while it was a bit annoying to have so many ‘claims’ tying me down, that was just the way of things. Small stores and businesses were always bought up by bigger, more successful ones. I knew that. And of course I had plans to ensure that I would be moving up the corporate ladder in the parent companies so that nobody would be able to tell me how to run my businesses in the future.
But those could wait. Right now, ensuring Cauldron Remedies was up and running before the year was out was paramount. Voldemort was returning, and I had to start spinning my web and laying down traps as soon as I could. I wouldn’t let the Death Eaters have their way ever again.
Banishing my darker thoughts to the back of my mind with a flex of Occlumency, I looked at the two women.
“Let’s discuss ways to bring in some attention once we open for business,” I suggested. “I was thinking we use Dawson’s Marketing for some of that.”
“The advertising firm Sam’s mother works at?” Delilah asked, and I nodded.
“Yup. I felt I owed it to her for her earlier help with my marketing plans.”
“Fair enough. I have no complaints with Dawsons. They are a competent and efficient group,” Josephine replied. “I will book a meeting with them to see what they are willing to offer.”
“Great! Now, I had some ideas for how to do this. I was thinking of making a website so people could order things online, as well as some well-timed radio and TV ads,” I suggested.
“The internet? You think it’s wise to invest in that?” Josephine inquired. It took a tremendous effort on the part of my Occlumency not to burst into laughter at her question.
“I honestly believe the internet is going to be very important in the future,” I said with a straight face. Delilah and Josephine both shared a look, then shrugged and accepted my prediction.
We got down to the nitty-gritty after that. It was boring, but had to be done if I wanted my products to become a household name.
All the while, though, I couldn’t help but wonder if I shouldn’t have done more to help Harry and his friends with their problem on the 3rd floor.
‘I’m sure they’ll be alright,’ I thought. I wished I could believe myself.
