Ancient Wizards Return to Hogwarts...

Chapter 132 The Soul of a Half-Human, Half-Snake

Pushing Damocles' body aside, Rice sat down on a stool and began to piece together the fragmented memories he had just gleaned.

Without a doubt, Damocles was an excellent pharmacist, and his clinic was never short of people seeking his medical advice and treatment.

On one occasion, a monk claiming to be from a secret order approached him, asking for seventeen kinds of potions, including the extremely difficult-to-make Felix Felicis. The only reward he offered was a fragment of a potion book supposedly from the Middle Ages, and Damocles had to swear an oath not to reveal their connection to the fragment to anyone else.

The deal seemed unequal, but the few words copied from the beginning of the tattered page piqued Damocles' interest, prompting him to agree to the deal and spend a full year collecting the seventeen potions.

This tattered page inspired him to concoct the wolfsbane potion.

Shortly after the wolfsbane potion was made, Mr. Greengrass came to his door. According to Damocles' plan, if he could cure Astoria, he would do his best to cure her; if not, he would prescribe a placebo to improve her physical condition—he felt that if he couldn't cure the disease, other pharmacists and nurses couldn't either, so it was better to let the little girl live a more comfortable life.

But regardless of whether he could cure Astoria, Damocles initially wouldn't try to profit from the Greengrass family. He wanted to leverage their influence to promote his wolfsbane medicine. Once he gained fame, won awards, and reaped both fame and fortune, he would then extract more money from Mr. Henry.

This is the conclusion Rice reached after sorting through the fragments of memory.

Another secret retreat!

He couldn't help but rub his chin. Stealing divine remains, assisting in the development of the wolfsbane potion, and "paying hefty sums" to gather intelligence on the magical world—this organization seems to be very unfriendly to wizards!

Now, Rice had his eye on the Secret Order.

He stood up from the stool and began cleaning the Damocles house.

As a renowned apothecary, Damocles lived in a place that was quite incongruous with his status—he lived in a rather desolate apartment on the outskirts of London.

The exterior walls of the apartment building have peeled off and been replaced by graffiti of various colors. Not a single piece of glass in the stairwell is intact. The best facility in the entire building is the front door of each household. Although it is broken and old, it can still function.

Who would have thought that a pharmacist would live in an apartment building like this?

The apartment appeared much more spacious than it did from the outside due to the magic, but it was also filled with books and newspapers. The only place that could be considered tidy was his study, where shelves were filled with his notes and letters.

Searching such a location would obviously be very time-consuming and laborious for an ordinary person.

But Rice had a clever way of doing things. He spread out his domain, and soon the entire apartment was enveloped in steam, and the floor turned into a muddy swamp.

Rice became completely absorbed, and everything in the apartment was enveloped in his senses.

Glug glug...

Several pamphlets surfaced; these were Damocles' complete notes on the wolfsbane potion.

Considering that Damocles said he did not reveal the potion recipe, and the Secret Order only had fragments, this is the only remaining method in the world for making wolfsbane potion.

Rice picked up the notebook, pondered for a moment, and instead of destroying it, he put it away—he felt that the potion could be developed into something new after his improvements.

The remaining documents contained no trace of the Secret Order, and to Rice they were all worthless. Damocles also hadn't stored potion ingredients in his home, which disappointed Rice somewhat.

Reaching the ground once more, Rice shut down his domain. The moisture in the air gradually dissipated, and the swamp on the ground returned to its original state.

Although Rice had taken the formula for the wolfsbane potion, he still decided to destroy the entire apartment to erase all traces.

"Although I'm good with water, it doesn't mean I can't use fire." A spark flickered at Rice's fingertips.

……

"Yesterday evening, a gas explosion occurred on Whitesabel Street in London, killing at least one person. According to witnesses, the explosion occurred around 6 p.m., with intense fire and thick smoke billowing from the scene. Surrounding buildings and streets suffered varying degrees of damage, leaving the area in a state of chaos..."

Uncle Vernon snorted and changed the channel.

"The pipes in those slums are as mushy as cookies, I wouldn't be surprised if there were an explosion there—by the way, Penny, remember to send that kid some food up, lest he set our house on fire."

The "boy" Uncle Vernon was referring to was, of course, his "good" nephew Harry Potter, who was now confined to a room on the second floor by Vernon because a large client of Uncle Vernon's had a cake float to the client's head and then fall over.

Uncle Vernon thus missed out on the opportunity for financial freedom, while Harry was given a summer of confinement, even though he repeatedly insisted that he did not do it.

Aunt Petunia snorted and reluctantly went to deliver Harry's meal.

However, ordinary confinement could not stop Harry's return to the wizarding world. A few hours later, a flying car hovered outside the Dursleys' second-floor window, pulled down the security bars, and sped away with Harry.

Harry spent the rest of the summer at the Weasleys' house. This was similar to Rice's situation, as he spent the summer at Greengrass Manor.

On the night Rice visited the Damocles' house, Mr. Henry couldn't wait to apply the medicine Rice had given him to his precious daughter, and then he saw a sight he would never forget: a cloud of white mist floated from her forehead and gradually gathered at the head of the bed.

Surprisingly, the mist condensed into a monster that was half human and half snake!

The monster's upper body resembled Astoria, appearing cute and pitiful; however, the girl's lower legs were replaced by a snake's tail. Astoria's manifested soul was not only bizarrely shaped, but its overall color was also ominous, mostly white but adorned with numerous ugly black stains—the blood curse was corrupting her soul while constantly expanding and growing stronger, until one day, Astoria's soul would completely transform into the form of a snake.

Just one glance was enough to understand how dire Astoria's situation was. Even Rice was secretly alarmed: Astoria's physical condition was worse than he had imagined.

Looking at his daughter's soul, Mr. Henry was petrified and speechless for a long time. Only when Rice promised to help find a cure did he manage to force a smile and thank Rice with little hope.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Update delivered, next update a little later.

(End of this chapter)