Chapter 7: The Master Plan
"Oof, back at last!" I groaned in relief as I all but kicked the door to my apartment open.
A month had gone by since school started, and all the minor annoyances, like homework, waking up early, and having stupid tests, had quickly reared their ugly heads, like a foul hydra. I was able to keep up with the school work easily thanks to my previous education experience and Occlumency training, and neither tests nor homework were truly all that bad thanks to my unfair advantages, merely irritations at most, but I could have done without the early mornings!
One of the few things that made Woolingsby tolerable was my new friend, Sam Parson. He was a sharp kid, and clearly recognized I wasn't the typical thirteen-year-old. But he assumed that was just because I was smarter than most of our classmates.
And, honestly, it was refreshing being friends with Sam. He was a bit hyper, but he wasn't unpleasantly so. He was definitely an extrovert, and liked dragging me around to do different things. But Sam knew when not to push to hard, and we were able to reach a comfortable middle ground between us regarding our hobbies and playtime.
Also, he was a big fan of Dungeons and Dragons. We hadn't even had a single session yet, but I had bought the rulebooks and then loaned them to him, and he was instantly hooked on the idea of an adventure game where he got to decide what the heroes did.
Second Edition was still two years away, however, and First Edition was somewhat complicated, so I'd be dumbing down some of the rules. It'd basically be Third Edition but with tweaks.
Still, I was tired after a long day at school, and it was only the sight of a package on the floor that perked me up.
"Is it…? It is! Finally!" I cheered as I tore off the cheap brown wrapping paper off the box, and grinned gleefully at what was in front of me.
You know how there were Easy-Bake Ovens and such? Well, the magical world had something similar for potions.
It was a product called 'Lil Witch's First Cauldron.' The whole set cost only a galleon, and was a steal for what it provided. The contents consisted of a basic copper cauldron large enough to hold a gallon's worth of liquid, a pewter mortar and pestle, miniature weighing scales, a blunted knife, three empty glass phials with cork stoppers to put your finished concoctions into, and enough ingredients to make at least one dose of three different potions that were taught to all Hogwarts First Years, plus recipes and brewing instructions. The potions in question were the Boil-Cure Potion, the Numbing Potion, and perhaps most importantly to me, the Wiggenweld Potion.
All three were useful, as the Boil-Cure could be altered to deal with pimples (a must have once puberty started), the Numbing Potion was basically a topical anesthetic to remove aches and pains, and the Wiggenweld Potion could heal, restore stamina, and act as a cure to minor poisons and curses.
Best of all, for the Wiggenweld Potion at least, there were multiple ways to brew the potion, with ingredients ranging from cheap, like salamander's blood and mountain ash tree bark, to expensive like unicorn hair. It all depended on what you wanted the potion to do. Blood and bark would give a superior healing effect, while unicorn hair boosted the potency of its curse-breaking effect.
The kit didn't come with something that precious, just a couple drops of salamander's blood and a pinch of ash tree bark, but the fact this potion had so many customization options even for beginner brewers was the important part.
See, what I planned on doing in the long term was turning potions from the wizarding world into something I could make and sell in the mundane world!
And while it would be tricky, it was entirely doable!
There were a lot of misconceptions about Squibs, I'd come to realize. Yes, we couldn't cast magic directly. We were unable to use wands, staves, rings, talismans or any other manner of foci to direct the energy within us and manifest it as spells.
However, that didn't mean Squibs lacked magic. Indeed, we had a little bit of it inside of us. How else could we use magical items and benefit from potions, unlike Muggles? And if we were truly magicless, then Muggle repelling wards would keep us out of magical society all together. But they didn't, as evidenced from Hogwarts' token Squib caretaker, Mr. Filch. We could also see magical phenomena and creatures, like Dementors, which to a Muggle was invisible, and only its icy presence was noticeable.
With that knowledge, I knew that I wasn't completely helpless in my new world. I could still benefit from the advantages magic provided, and I would do so in three ways; Arithmancy, Runes, and Potions.
None of the three disciplines required the ability to cast magic. Arithmancy was just fancy, complicated math. It was used to decipher certain types of magic, and was vital in all kinds of advanced disciplines, including runes.
Speaking of runes, they didn't need magic to be carved or set. Just a bit of magic was needed to activate the function of a runic sequence, and after that they'd passively absorb magical energy to sustain themselves. As such, runes were a key component in many enchanted magical items, alongside the branch of magic known as Charms.
Now, one might wonder how a Squib could use runes if we didn't have the ability to outwardly manifest our internal magic. The answer to that was the third discipline: Potions!
Most potions do not take their magical effects or properties from the mage who brewed them, but instead from the magic within the ingredients. As such, Squibs could brew potions if they wished. It was how Tom Riddle Jr.'s mother had managed to catch the eye of Tom Riddle Sr., after all. A love potion was why the greatest monster since Grindelwald ended up being born.
The potions might not be of the best quality, and some of the more complex creations were out of a Squib's reach because they needed an injection of magic from the brewer to work properly, but for the most part, the really basic potions that were taught from 1st to 4th year at Hogwarts needed just the right ingredients and the proper way to prepare and cook them. Even a couple O.W.L and N.E.W.T level ones could be done without a wand or even a magical foci to inject magic, relying entirely on the magical energy within the ingredients!
And then, circling back to runes for a second, it was possible for someone to activate the runic sequences that had been carved by splashing a potion onto them, using the magic inside the liquid as a catalyst.
Not just any potion would do, though. You couldn't expect a runic sequence for heat or fire to be activated by a Cooling Draught, but you could use said potion to activate runes based on ice or the cold.
Potions were simply bottled spells when it came down to it, and anything done with a wand-based spell could be replicated in some fashion with a potion, same with runes, though with varying degrees of success and effectiveness. The Memory Erasing potion was inferior to the Obliviate spell, for instance, but it had its uses. For example, most animals – magical or mundane – were immune to the Obliviate spell. In which case, the Memory Erasing potion was great for turning animals into a blank slate so they could be trained more easily.
In the end, Squibs were far from lacking magic. They just didn't get any respect or chances to prove themselves because of how magical society valued wands and spells.
'But I'll show them,' I vowed to myself as I began to set up the miniature potion kit. 'I'll show them all!'
First, though, before I could conquer the pharmaceutical market with my potions, I had to make sure I could actually do what I wanted with potions. Specifically, brewing them. That was Step One. I had to be sure that the potions I wanted to make and sell I could actually create.
The next step was testing said potions on Muggles. There were some problems with that, besides the obvious 'no letting people realize this is actually magic' issue.
Not all potions could affect Muggles. However, there were plenty that did, such as the infamous love potions. If Tom Riddle Sr. could be affected by one, other potions surely could be consumed by Muggles for their intended effects.
'I even suspect that Muggles could brew potions too,' I thought to myself. 'Heck, even machines could do it! Program them to stir at the right speed and direction, keep the heat just right, and with a proper set up I could churn out potions on an industrial level! Potions are a form of ritual magic, after all. As long as they are prepared in the proper manner, most potions rely on the magic of the ingredients themselves, nothing more.'
Such a thing would require a lot testing, however. At the very least, I already had one product in mind to experiment with; the Hair Growth potion.
How much money was spent every year by people with baldness or receding hairlines? Millions of dollars (or pounds, since I was English now), is the answer. And most of it was sham products. Scams at the very worst. If I could brew a hair growth potion that could do so slowly, and not all at once like most variants of the vanity potion did, then I could sell it to Muggles and make a killing! And, if the ingredients were cheap enough, experiments with mass producing it could be possible!
And just my luck, the Hunch Family Grimoires I had 'borrowed' from the manor had a homemade recipe for the Hair Growth potion!
Interestingly, it didn't have any hair as part of the ingredients. It called for rat's teeth, a lizard's tail (finely diced), a dollop of bees wax, and a pinch of salt.
There were issues with this recipe, of course. What constituted a 'dollop' or 'pinch?' Could it be any tail from any animal classified as a lizard, or did it have to be specifically from one that could regrow its tail? Was it rock salt or sea salt the potion called for? Could I replace one with the other without causing the potion to explode? I hadn't a clue, but that was what experimentation was for. I'd had Inky gather up as many diverse ingredients as possible.
Some might wonder, 'why use the beginner's potion kit for this?' Well, the answer was simple; I was too young to own a real cauldron or any potion equipment of my own. I had to source it all through toys because I was too young. And, if I'm brutally honest, the fact I was a Squib would also be reason enough for someone not to sell to me professional grade materials once I did grow up. So, for the moment, I would experiment with whatever 'toys' I could get my mitts on.
'Note to self, look into Muggle chemistry sets,' I thought as I turned on the heat of the stove and put the teapot sized mini-cauldron on top of the flames. 'Also, get safety goggles and other equipment. Wizards wouldn't know the meaning of the term 'lab safety' if it hit 'em on the head!'
I separated out my ingredients, and decided to make the Wiggenweld potion first. It was easy and wouldn't destroy the cauldron if done wrong – just cause gross smoke instead. If I did the Numbing Potion wrong, I could cause frostbite or other cold related damage to my skin, and the Boil-Cure Potion was known to explode and melt the cauldron as well as cause horrific blisters if improperly brewed.
So, I took the ingredients that came with the potion kit, and prepared them as the water boiled. A Hunch family recipe for the Wiggenweld Potion called for powdered Wiggentree bark, aka the bark of a mountain ash tree (or rowan in some circles), salamander's blood (from a normal salamander, not the magical kind that's on fire), mint leaves, dittany, and honey. Again, the recipe was vague on how much of anything I needed, but at least most of the work involved stirring. And, best of all, aside from the dittany, it was completely mundane.
Dittany was a magical plant, an herb, really, that grew in several regions worldwide and was vital for healing potions. The concentrated Essence of Dittany potion was so potent a tiny smear of the stuff could heal almost any superficial wounds and prevent scarification from larger ones.
And wouldn't you know it? Dittany actually grew in the Muggle world, and was well known for its healing properties! Well, known among herbalists and 'natural cure' folks, that is. But there was some truth to their claims.
Now, the magical world used a very specific breed of dittany plant known as Origanum Dictamnus, or more commonly Cretan Dittany. It only grows on the island of Crete, hence why in the magical world, Essence of Dittany was rare and expensive, and the plant itself was reserved for only talented potion brewers.
But, there is another breed of dittany, one that grows wild and abundant in the Muggle world. Dictamnus Albus, sometimes known as 'burning bush' due to the highly flammable oils it produces. It is not as magically potent as the Cretan variety, as much of the innate magic was bred out of it due to its spread across woodlands in Southern Europe, Northern Africa and most of Asia. Yet there still remained a spark of this healing essence that allowed this substance to work its magic, literally. So long as it was brewed properly, even this debased off-shoot could provide a potent healing effect. And if mixed with other ingredients, it allowed for even a magicless Squib like myself to provide the necessary 'spark' of magic many mid to high tier potions demanded, and would usually require a wand-user to provide.
And so, into the water went some shredded dittany leaves. Then, the salamander's blood. As I stirred using a stirring stick made from a unicorn's horn (another relic of the Hunch family) the liquid started to change colors. Red, orange, pink, yellow, even turquoise at one point! Then, I increased the heat, and added the powdered bark as it bubbled. The potion turned yellow, and in went the mint! This made it turn purple, until I stirred it, at which point it became a reddish hue.
A couple more shredded leaves of mint went in, and it turned orange again, then yellow. And then finally went the honey, and it went back to a pretty shade of turquoise as it simmered. After thirty minutes of doing so, I turned off the heat and removed the potion to let it cool.
I went and did my homework afterwards as I waited, and found that the potion was finally done an hour later. It had darkened from its turquoise hue to a cyan in that time, and I cautiously tested it by smearing some of the potion over a papercut I'd gotten in school earlier.
A faint tingle ran through the appendage, and I watched wide-eyed as the blue liquid seeped into the wound and the cut healed completely!
"It worked!" I cheered, overjoyed that my first potion had actually done its job properly. Sure, I'd brewed potions before, but that had always been with my mom nearby, and I'd always wondered and worried if perhaps the potions I'd brewed had only come out fine due to the presence of my witch of a mother (in a good way!).
But now, here was proof I could make my own potions!
"I'll have to test this again," I told myself. "See if I can brew it without using the unicorn horn stirrer. And see how much I actually need of each ingredient. And is there a way to make it thicker, so it's more like a cream? Creams sell better than liquid medicines, after all."
All these thoughts swirled through my mind, and it took considerable effort to stop them and calm down.
'Yes, I succeeded, but that was just a test. No need to go overboard with the excitement. I have many years to go to perfect everything. For now, celebrate with some Thai takeout,' I thought to myself.
Still, I couldn't help but smile. My future – and my Master Plan – looked promising.
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