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Harry Potter: The Last Scion of Sprout - 252
🕑 Added 2025-09-19 20:00:05 +0000 UTCChapter 252: Harvest, Thunderbird Potion, and Ritual Surprise
At this moment, Ciel's gaze fell on his system panel. The text of Severus Potion Transfiguration was now completely covered by the Iron-level lustre.
Iron-level advancement.
This meant he'd finally officially mastered this magical ability. He immediately felt his understanding of Potions had risen to a completely different height.
Though still far from Snape's student-era level of easily modifying various advanced potion-making procedures, now given basic potions, he had full confidence to improve procedures based on their different magical properties.
This top-tier potion technique brought him improvements beyond just Potions mastery. Transfiguration also benefited greatly. After all, this technique's foundation was Tolman Transfiguration.
With Severus Potion Transfiguration mastered, it naturally promoted his Tolman Transfiguration in return. The Silver lustre on the Transfiguration text became increasingly brilliant.
While he experienced these gains, Snape stared at the Scabies Potion he'd created, unable to recover for a long time.
He'd always acknowledged Ciel's efforts, but based on his assessment of the boy's talent, it should've taken at least a semester's training to initially grasp Severus Potion Transfiguration.
Even until his own end came, the boy might not master this technique. That was quite possible.
But Snape never expected that in just one day, he'd succeed. How did this boy do it?
Under such shock and impact, Ciel's earlier words inevitably echoed in his mind: "Magic's idealistic. With sufficient belief. Any miracles possible?"
After a long while, Snape finally recovered. The dense gloom that had shrouded his heart had unknowingly lightened considerably, as if a few rays of hopeful light were still flickering.
But soon, looking at the Scabies Potion Ciel had made, Snape still showed a disgusted expression.
"Such a potion makes you this happy? Your standards for Potions are far too low." His lip curled. "Don't tell anyone I taught you Potions, or I'll truly have no face to show anyone."
Ciel didn't mind Snape's sarcasm. In fact, he was relieved. This was more like it. Snape not spewing venom felt strange.
He nodded repeatedly, dealing with the sarcasm and critique. "Professor, I'll clean up the Potions classroom. You go ahead with your work?"
But Snape unusually waved his hand. "No need for you to clean up. Come with me."
When Ciel showed a confused expression, Snape led him to his office. Then he retrieved an orange-yellow potion from his cabinet storing various materials, handing it over.
"Take it. No room left in the cabinet."
Ciel was stunned, instinctively accepting the potion, but immediately felt something extraordinary. Even through the bottle, he could feel electric arcs flickering within. His hair stood on end.
"What is this?!"
While he was surprised, Snape explained casually, as if discussing something insignificant: "A potion brewed using Thunderbird eyes as the main ingredient. It can temporarily give one's magic lightning properties, greatly reducing lightning damage to the user."
He snorted. "I originally wanted to brew a potion that could truly transform someone into lightning, but only achieved this level. A worthless project for me. An imperfect work."
"Looking at it annoys me. It doesn't deserve to stay in my precious cabinet. Take it away and dispose of it immediately."
Ciel fell silent.
Thunderbird eyes. Even in the magical world, this was extremely rare material. Snape's cabinet storing various materials had only one Thunderbird eye, always kept on the top shelf. Even the bottle containing it was regularly cleaned, spotless.
Yet it'd been used to brew such a potion?
Thinking of the complex procedures needed to process Thunderbird eyes, his emotions became complicated. Calculating the timing, Snape must've begun preparing this potion after discovering him using the Room of Requirement to create electrical currents for practising ancient weather magic.
Despite his disdainful words, this potion was obviously prepared for him to withstand natural lightning. The time and effort expended was obvious.
After a moment of silence, he didn't refuse. This potion was indeed very useful to him now.
Carefully storing the potion in his robes, he said seriously: "Professor, I won't disappoint you."
Snape impatiently waved him away.
After Ciel left, Snape's lips slowly curved into a smile.
When he emerged from the underground classroom to ground level, he found yesterday's storm had stopped. The air was cool and fresh. Bright sunshine streamed down warmly. It was clearing after rain.
He exhaled softly. Snape's Thunderbird potion was indeed unexpected, but considering its effects, his eyes showed burning intensity:
"It seems the Quintaped blood matter can be prepared."
Three days later, on Sprout Island, damp salty sea winds brought even more stifling heat. Low-hanging clouds seemed to be brewing something.
Troll Priest Sirius looked into the distance. A feeling told it that in a few days, an unprecedented storm would sweep this sea area. Then, even trolls would have to shelter in caves before such natural might.
Fortunately, Sprout Island had protective magic to prevent crops from suffering too severe devastation.
"But before that, I must complete my king's assigned task."
Its gaze turned to the island's highest cliff, where trolls were busily building a huge, pointed device. This was the task Ciel had assigned three days ago when he'd visited. Before the next violent storm, he needed a device called a lightning rod.
Sirius didn't know what this was, but would complete any order from him without hesitation. After all, he'd brought the troll clan out of the sunless Forbidden Forest to Sprout Island, where they could live in peace and prosperity.
Moreover, his visit three days ago hadn't just brought this command, but something unexpected for Sirius.
It carefully retrieved a notebook, gently stroking its pages: "Nicolas Flamel's notebook..."
Even in the Forbidden Forest, Sirius had heard of Nicolas Flamel's reputation. The pinnacle of alchemy, the only alchemist who'd created the Philosopher's Stone.
Such a being's notebook was invaluably precious. Yet Ciel had given such a precious notebook to it. A troll considered foul-smelling and crude by ordinary people!
This regard made Sirius feel the weight of responsibility: "My king treats me thus. This matter must be done perfectly. Otherwise, how could I repay my king's kindness?"
Taking a deep breath, Sirius wielded its human-height "wand". Ancient runes flowed from its mouth as the ancient flame magic that had once burnt Ciel terribly surged from the wand tip again.
Blazing flames fell on metal ores the trolls had gathered from the island and nearby beaches, melting them instantly. Simultaneously, its wand struck the ground, lighting an alchemical array as molten ore flowed into its channels.
With alchemical light, the crude, impure ore immediately transformed into highly pure metal. Trolls carried this still-molten metal to the cliff, pouring it onto the towering, sharp structure.
While Sirius worked busily, an appreciative voice came from behind: "Sirius, your alchemy's improving incredibly fast."
Hearing this voice, Sirius quickly turned around. Ciel's figure appeared before it.
Looking at the displayed alchemy, he appeared quite satisfied. This troll priest's alchemical talent was truly incredible. The Fire God bloodline's enhancement to alchemy was beyond ordinary imagination.
At this rate, Sirius might truly inherit Nicolas Flamel's legacy. If so, the help to himself would be unimaginable.
Facing his praise, Sirius was entirely serious: "My king, my alchemical mastery is still far insufficient. I'll quickly learn Nicolas Flamel's notebook contents and never waste the opportunity my king secured for me."
He smiled and waved his hand. He'd always wanted to correct how Sirius and the trolls addressed him. "My king" sounded quite strange.
But Sirius insisted that status distinctions were necessary. A king was a king. For the king leading the troll clan toward the future, there must be no disrespect or transgression.
After several attempts, he could only give up.
Now he asked about the lightning rod project's progress.
Sirius confidently stated: "My king, at most three more days. Before the storm arrives, we can complete this device."
"But..." Worry appeared in its eyes. "This storm'll probably be much larger than expected. Lightning and thunder – even in our ancestors' blood memories, this magic made even gods tremble with fear."
"My king, will you truly endure this?"
He narrowed his eyes slightly. Previously he might not have had much confidence, but now with Snape's Thunderbird potion plus Diamond-level limb regeneration ability greatly increasing his recovery rate, as long as his brain and heart weren't instantly destroyed, he could rapidly heal in a short time.
Moreover, he'd already endured electrical current in the Room of Requirement, with natural will driving thunder already within him. He had some resistance to lightning.
Even facing natural lightning directly, he was fully confident. At least no life-threatening danger.
Furthermore, he'd prepared a "shield" for himself this time, which should further weaken lightning's power.
Thinking this, his lips curved slightly, as if anticipating something: "Wonder what the Delia Island temple's prepared. Don't disappoint me too much."
Meanwhile, on Delia Island, in the strange temple he'd seen before, peculiar curse magic shrouded everything with bizarre scenes.
Fierce, bloodthirsty Quintapeds now surrounded the temple exterior. Their heads showed intense fanaticism as they seemed to worship the temple.
Even the temple doors stood wide open, with black-robed figures emerging. The black robes seemed to have endured hundreds of years. Their protective magic had dissipated; the once-valuable material was now tattered.
Even the badge representing Transfiguration Master honours had dimmed.
This figure was stooped, but the Quintapeds' gazes became more fanatical upon seeing him, seeming eager for something.
From under the black robes emerged a withered finger covered in red fur, pointing at three Quintapeds in succession. The chosen Quintapeds immediately showed ecstatic expressions, prostrating themselves in the temple's entrance plaza.
The remaining Quintapeds voiced blurred praise before swarming forward to completely devour their three prostrated kin.
During this bizarre, bloody ritual, waves of strange power flowed from the Quintapeds into the temple.
In the temple's depths, a hate-filled voice echoed: "The Demeter ritual's cooldown time's almost over. Last time that boy stole so much of my power. He must've tasted considerable sweetness."
"I can sense much Quintaped blood still remains outside. He must be saving it to perform rituals. Wait, blasphemer. You'll have no good end."
"Those who covet divine power will ultimately prostrate themselves before the temple. The Transfiguration Masters who came to Delia Island centuries ago were no exception."
"The Weasley boy was no exception. And you, Demeter's inheritor, will be no exception. Quickly, perform the Demeter ritual."
"You'll never dream of what surprise I've prepared for you!"
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