"So? What exactly is the use of this thing?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as he circled the strange contraption.
"Well, for the two of you, it's probably useless. But for , it's the key to making so... functional tools," Kane explained.
He rested his hand on the circular valve of the Alchemy Engine. "More importantly, being near this thing helps focus. It's like my brain works faster around it, though don't ask for the science behind that."
As he spoke, Kane pressed the valve down.
The structural blueprints and alchemical theories contained within the Engine flooded into Kane's mind like a rushing river—entering through one ear and, unfortunately, threatening to flow right out the other. To truly keep that knowledge, he had to build sothing.
He scanned his internal "crafting nu."
The Prestigihatitator (his ticket to controlling the Constant's deeper magic)? Not enough materials.
A Tentent (to finally ditch the flower crown and restore his sanity efficiently)? Still not enough materials.
For the first ti since arriving at Hogwarts, Kane felt truly "broke."
He picked up the remaining two books. He decided sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford tonight. He would finish Professor McGonagall's recomnded reading before dawn, then find a "filler" class tomorrow to master the Summoning Charm manual.
Once he had those down, he could head to the Forbidden Forest. To most, it was a place of nightmare; to Kane, it was an untapped goldmine of resources.
He'd heard rumors of giant spiders. Perfect. He needed silk for the Prestihatitator and the Tent—he'd harvest them until they didn't know whether they were coming or going!
Late that night, Ron woke up to use the bathroom. Rubbing his eyes, he noticed a flickering light in the corner of the dorm. He crept closer and saw Kane leaning against the Alchemy Engine, reading by the light of a small campfire.
The flower crown sat atop Kane's head, casting long, jittery shadows against the stone walls.
In an instant, Ron decided he could probably hold it until morning. Even in a world of magic, the sight was profoundly "wrong." It looked less like a student studying and more like an ancient curse manifesting in a dormitory.
"rciful rlin," Ron whispered, backing away, "please don't let the terrifying spirit of 'All-Nighters and Overachieving' haunt my... socks!"
He fell back into a restless, bladder-straining sleep.
The next morning, Ron finally sprinted to the bathroom. Kane, anwhile, was standing by his bed.
"You look like soone who's developed a severe allergy to the sun," Harry remarked, eyeing the dark circles that had doubled in intensity.
"I simply used the ti you spent dreaming to improve myself," Kane said, stifling a massive yawn. Thanks to the Alchemy Engine's proximity, he had actually finished the two thick volus.
They weren't like the light reading he'd done in the common room; these books had heft, both physically and theoretically.
"What's the first class today?" Ron asked, erging from the bathroom with a look of imnse relief.
"Herbology. In the greenhouses," Kane said, already lacing his shoes. He began ushering the lingering Harry and Ron out the door. For a mont, he suspected they were moving slowly on purpose just to miss breakfast and trick him into "crafting" atballs again.
They made it to the Great Hall just in ti, fueled up, and wandered toward the greenhouses.
Inside Greenhouse One, Kane found a small, backless wooden stool—the kind that swivels. He sat down and began calculating the exact center of gravity required to fall asleep while sitting upright.
Just as he was about to achieve the perfect slumbering balance, Professor Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff, yanked him back to reality with a single sentence.
"Today, class, we shall be studying the Mandrake."
Harry and Ron, standing in front of Kane, felt a sudden surge of life behind them. With a soft pop sound, Kane squeezed his way between them.
"What was that? What are we learning?" Kane asked urgently.
"Mandrakes," Harry said, startled. "How are you awake? You looked like a walking corpse ten seconds ago." Between the panda-eyes and the bloodshot stare, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Kane had just keeled over.
"Mandrakes? Oh, I am so here for this," Kane said, rubbing his face vigorously to chase away the fog.
This was crucial. Mandrakes weren't just for curing petrification; they were the key ingredient for the Pan Flute—a tool that could put entire rooms of enemies into a deep sleep. He'd need the Prestihatitator to make the flute, but getting the raw materials early was the "Pro-Gar" move.
"You're planning sothing, aren't you?" Ron whispered, glancing at the potted Mandrakes. "I'm telling you, don't ss with those. I had a relative who was nearly vibrated to death by one. When I saw him in St. Mungo's, it wasn't pretty."
Kane gave him a reassuring wink. "Don't you worry. This 'mountain man' has a plan."
He shuffled over to where Neville was standing and tapped his shoulder. "Neville, I need a favor."
"What? I an—anything I can do, I will," Neville stamred.
"When class starts, I need you to ask Professor Sprout if you can 'adopt' or take ho a Mandrake."
Neville's face went white. "That's impossible! They're too dangerous. She'd never say yes."
"I know. I just need you to draw everyone's attention for a mont."
"Just a distraction? Wait... you're going to steal a Mandrake?"
"Let's call it 'unauthorized resource relocation,'" Kane nodded.
Neville went silent for a mont. "Okay. But be careful. If a pot goes missing, she'll notice imdiately."
"Trust ," Kane said, returning to Harry and Ron.
"How are you going to swipe it without her noticing an empty spot?" Harry asked.
"I'll pull it out, tuck it in my robes, and replace it with a temporary decoy that Professor Sprout will overlook at a glance."
Kane scanned the greenhouse. Underneath one of the long wooden workbenches, he spotted exactly what he needed: half of a leftover daikon radish soone had apparently dropped from a snack.
With a subtle flick of his hand, he used a minor summoning spell to bring the radish to his side. The green leafy tops were, at a distance, nearly identical to the leaves of a Mandrake.
"Alright, students!"
A warm, motherly voice echoed through the greenhouse. Professor Sprout, looking like everyone's favorite aunt who specializes in apple pies, walked in with a beaming smile.
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