At Hogwarts, Alchemy was a highly specialized, advanced elective, available only to N.E.W.T.-level students (sixth years and above) who were also taking Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Charms. Due to insufficient interest, the class wasn't even offered to Harry Potter's year group.
Unfortunately, Sean was in Harry's year group.
Following conventional channels, he wouldn't even catch a glimpse of the Alchemy professor, let alone learn from her. He didn't even know where her office was.
Yet, Alchemy was endlessly fascinating. Muggles might dismiss it as primitive chemistry, but their understanding of wizarding Alchemy was as limited as wizards' understanding of Muggle science. Even most wizards failed to grasp its true depth.
Consider its achievents: the Philosopher's Stone, the Knight Bus, Vanishing Cabinets... It was a field of infinite possibility.
Since deciding to pursue Alchemy, Sean had started paying closer attention to the conversations of older students.
The castle was blanketed in snow. The Great Hall slled of lunch, the tables laden with food, but several Gryffindor and Ravenclaw upper-years looked troubled.
"I can't believe it," a Gryffindor boy said, pushing his potatoes around his plate. "'Nigredo' sounds simple enough, but when I actually try to do it, my mind goes blank."
"It's perfectly normal to be confused at the beginning," a Ravenclaw girl replied, packing away so tallic samples. It was Pala Peyton, a seventh-year, one of the few students taking Alchemy.
"So, you an after a while, I'll master it?" The Gryffindor's eyes lit up. Everyone knew Alchemists, like Potion Masters, were walking Galleon-printing machines. He rubbed his hands together, imagining himself becoming a big shot like Professor Terra.
"...Heh. No," Pala scoffed, rolling her eyes. "After a while, you'll just get used to being confused."
Another drear crushed. The surrounding Gryffindors groaned in sympathy. They were already regretting their choice.
Just then, a flock of owls swooped in, dropping packages. A small group of students exchanged nervous glances before opening them. Scrolls of parchnt covered in dense, ancient symbols and diagrams spilled out, triggering a fresh wave of despair.
"Another fifteen-inch essay!" one student wailed. "And we have to cite at least three sixteenth-century alchemical texts!"
Justin watched curiously from the Ravenclaw table, glancing at Sean. He knew Sean had been researching Alchemy lately; his desk was piled high with An Easy Introduction to Ancient Runes, Rune Dictionary, and Spellman's Syllabary. According to Sean's notes, he had devoured them all in less than a month.
The snow intensified around three o'clock. By afternoon, it had beco a full-blown blizzard. Herbology was cancelled, but Professor Sprout had enlisted Sean, Justin, and Neville for an ergency mission: dressing the Mandrakes.
"Neville, your earmuffs are crooked!" Justin shouted over the wind, straightening Neville's pink, fluffy earmuffs.
Once the strange, ugly plant-babies were bundled in socks and scarves, Professor Sprout produced large pots and buried them up to their necks in damp, dark compost.
"Do as I do, my dear sprouts. Our Mandrakes are still young; their cries won't kill you, but they will knock you out for hours."
She dusted the soil from her hands, watching the three boys work efficiently. A warm smile touched her face. Few students lingered in the greenhouses, especially for such tedious tasks. But these three... they had weathered storms, mud, wind, and snow together.
Oh... how wonderful. Truly wonderful. There is nothing better than this...
As they left the greenhouse, bundled in scarves and gloves, leaving a neat trail of footprints in the snow, a face suddenly popped out of a snowman.
"We said we'd find you!"
It was Fred, his entire body buried in the snow, only his grinning face visible.
"And ti is of the essence!"
Another snowman spoke, making Neville shriek.
"Where did you find a groundhog... never mind, that's hilarious too. Follow us!"
Fred and George burst out of the snown, causing them to collapse. They hurried off, Sean following nervously behind them.
"I bet you don't know much about Professor Terra," Fred said, his breath clouding in the cold air.
"It took us a whole year to find her..." George adjusted his red and black scarf.
They entered the castle through the Great Hall and ducked into a secret passage concealed behind a painting of a fruit bowl—one that only opened when the fruit looked particularly withered.
"Professor Terra is always traveling between Beauxbatons and Uagadou. I daresay there isn't a magical school she hasn't visited... You know Uagadou?" Fred raised an eyebrow. "You probably wouldn't..."
"Uagadou is a wizarding school located in the Mountains of the Moon in Uganda," Sean recited quietly. "It's the largest of all wizarding schools, accepting students from all over Africa."
George watched Fred choke on his words and asked curiously, "Then you also know Babajide Akingbade?"
"The wizard most likely to succeed Dumbledore as the Supre Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards? I read about him in A History of Modern Magic," Sean replied.
"rlin's beard—you know Babajide Akingbade, but you don't know Professor Terra?" George stared, wide-eyed. "She's an honoured guest at Uagadou, renowned throughout the alchemical world! Not only is she the Ministry's alchemical advisor, but rumor has it she's even t Nicolas Flal... Word is, she used to work for Floo-Pow, the only company in Britain authorized to produce Floo Powder. No one even knows where their headquarters is..."
(End of Chapter)
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