HR Chapter 95 Happy Potions! Part 2

Though it wasn't his usual wand, the spell responded. A silver mist coiled from the tip like swirling moonlight, shimmering with an ephemeral glow. But that was all.

The silvery substance rippled outward, illuminating the castle in a dreamlike haze, shifting the gloom into something almost ethereal— like a fairy tale frozen mid-scene. Yet, the Patronus itself refused to fully manifest.

Despite Ian's unwavering concentration, the magic plateaued, refusing to push past its limits. His own innate abilities—so carefully honed—stood still, as unyielding as a fortress.

[Patronus Charm (Level 0) 49/50]

There was no movement and no progress.

Ian frowned. He had studied this charm meticulously, refined every step, grasped every nuance. And yet, something was missing.

"You may have a natural affinity for a magic called Mirage Reappearance," Morgan mused, her voice threaded with curiosity and something akin to amusement. "But that will have to wait until you fix my guards."

Her eyes— dark as a starless night— lingered on the dissipating mist, observing it with a quiet, knowing intrigue.

"You lack joy," She continued. "But more importantly, you lack the true catalyst for this spell to take shape."

This was a precise assessment and one that resonated uncomfortably well with Ian.

"Yes, my professor said that the Patronus Charm summons a wizard's Soul Form— that it shares origins with Dementors and serves as a guide for lost souls after death."

Ian recounted Grindelwald's theories, particularly his thoughts on Dementors and their connection to the spell. If anyone could offer deeper insight, it would be Morgan le Fay— the legendary sorceress who had long since crossed the threshold between life and death.

"Your professor is quite the scholar," She remarked, raising an eyebrow. "It seems the later generations have managed to produce a few competent minds after all."

There was no mockery in her voice— only the slightest trace of approval.

Her reaction alone was enough to validate Grindelwald's research.

"Then, teacher, what about my Soul Form?" Ian blinked, finally voicing the question that had lingered in his mind since his last discussion with Grindelwald.

Unlike the old wizard's bafflement, Morgan seemed entirely unfazed by Ian's inability to summon a Patronus. In fact, she smiled.

"Every wizard has a Soul Form, my apprentice," She said smoothly. "Why don't you take a guess as to why you have none?"

Ian considered for a moment.

Then, with an utterly straight face, he replied, "Could it be that my Soul Form fell in love with a wild Patronus and ran off?"

Silence.

For the first time, Morgan's expression froze. It was so brief— so fleeting— that Ian barely caught it before she sighed in exasperation.

"...What exactly do you think about all day?" She muttered, rubbing her temple as if he'd just given her a migraine. "How do you manage to come up with such nonsense?"

She let out a breath, shaking her head.

"A Soul Form cannot be 'taken' by a wild Patronus because there is no such thing as a wild Patronus," She explained, her voice patient but laced with a hint of amusement. "A Patronus is not a creature— it is a choice. When a soul stands at the crossroads of death, it must make a decision. And it is in that moment that the Patronus is born… a guide, leading the soul to a life it has never lived before."

She paused, her gaze steady on him.

"This life," She said, "is called being a wizard."

Morgan le Fay leaned back against the bench, her eyes never leaving Ian's as she let those words settle between them.

"So, my apprentice, the reason you lack a Soul Form is not something I can answer for you…"

The witch's voice remained as smooth as ever, yet the weight of her words struck like a well-aimed curse.

"You should be asking yourself: what sets you apart from other wizards?"

Her eyes, sharp as a blade honed by centuries of wisdom, seemed to pierce through the very fabric of existence.

Ian felt as though his mind had been turned inside out. A quiet, creeping sense of unease settled over him, and instinctively, he averted his gaze.

A flicker of guilt passed through him.

Some secrets were bound to be unearthed. Others… others must never see the light of day.

Yet, beneath the shock of realization, a deeper understanding surfaced. The answer had been staring him in the face all along.

Why couldn't he summon a Patronus?

Because unlike the other wizards of this world… he had never truly belonged to it.

A soul that had never passed through the cycle of reincarnation— was that what set him apart?

"Can the dead return to the mortal world… as wizards?"

It was a deliberate change of topic. But more than that, Ian found the very notion impossible to accept.

"Precisely."

The witch nodded, her expression unreadable.

"Reincarnation? It actually works like that?"

The words sounded absurd even as he spoke them aloud.

"Yes… it works exactly like that," The witch replied, her voice tinged with amusement. Then, as if struck by some inexplicable thought, she tilted her head slightly, regarding Ian with a look both knowing and faintly incredulous.

"To be quite frank, you are the last person who should be asking that question."

She left a cryptic remark and before Ian could press her for an explanation, the witch's gaze flickered to his bag.

"You should move on to the next question. And once you're done, you'll leave behind half the food in your bag."

She said it so casually that it took Ian a moment to process the command.

"Some people don't deserve to eat," She continued coolly. "You may only bring a portion to that little girl. If I so much as hear that you shared any of it with that executioner—"

She didn't finish the sentence.

But the cold amusement that curled at the edge of her lips made her meaning unmistakable.

Ian felt something click into place. A missing piece of the puzzle falling exactly where it was meant to be.

He was beginning to understand the full weight of this witch's identity.

Perhaps?

Probably?

"The second question is rather simple, teacher." Ian adjusted his tone, shifting the conversation. "You have an unparalleled understanding of potions. In your time, was there ever a brew that could grant a person boundless happiness?"

It was something he needed to know— not for himself, but for a friend.

After all, his friend had struggled with the Patronus Charm just as he had.

And Ian was certain of one thing: if the Half-Blood Prince had ever discovered a potion capable of granting pure happiness, he would have used it on himself long ago.

There would have been no need for the gloom, no reason for the perpetual scowl, no justification for behaving like a wizard suffering through perpetual magical menopause.

"Happiness potions?"

The witch's gaze swept over Ian, her expression unreadable— until sudden realization dawned.

And then, to his utter bewilderment, she reached for her own gown and began tearing at the fabric with an almost unnervingly bright smile.

"Uh… teacher," Ian said hesitantly, watching as another piece of the aged material was ripped away. "Wouldn't it be easier to just write it in the old books I brought? I may not be able to take anything out of this place, but I can bring back what I originally carried in."

He had wanted to ask this question for quite some time.

"Are you dissatisfied with my offerings?" Her tone dipped into something dangerously close to irritation.

Ian hesitated. The witch's smile had faded, and he had the distinct impression he was treading on thin ice.

Quickly, he explained, "It's just… I imagine that this takes something from you. Your robes have never repaired themselves. If there's a cost to this, I'd rather not see you harmed on my behalf."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, ever so slightly, her expression softened.

"You'll understand the significance of this one day," She murmured. "But that day is not today."

A pause.

"Perhaps you ought to trust your teacher a little more," She added, pressing the fabric into his hands. "One day, you'll be grateful for it."

Her voice carried an unmistakable weight, layered with meaning Ian had yet to grasp.

But that was a mystery for another time.

"I trust you completely— just as I trust my mother."

Ian had already collected two pieces of the witch's gown today. At this rate, he suspected he would eventually witness the unsettling sight of her shivering from the cold.

(To Be Continued…)

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