HP: Alchemy? Nah, It's Crafting

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"In Alchemy, the one thing that relies least on magic is Redstone." Kasenhis placed a Redstone block on the desk. "I've shown you before, but Redstone still needs to be activated. You can think of it as a limitless power source, but first, it needs an initial charge."

He tapped the block lightly.

"For example, if I build an Alchemical construct that requires a certain amount of magical energy to run, we set that amount—let's call it X.

"Redstone, in this case, acts as the power source. If we inject X units of magic into regular Redstone, it will continuously output that exact X amount.

"But…" Kasenhis smiled knowingly. "Even this tiny X value would drain most of your magic. Want to test it? Here."

He slid the small finger-sized piece of Redstone toward Neville.

The boy picked it up, immediately realizing that this looked different from the ones Kasenhis had given them before.

Unlike those, this one was dull and lifeless. No glowing patterns, no magical resonance.

So… the ones they had received earlier were already pre-activated by Professor Kasenhis.

This is what Redstone originally looks like.

Neville clenched his fist, then focused.

Slowly, he channeled his magic into the Redstone—bit by bit—until he reached his limit.

Finally, he set it back onto the desk, now glowing faintly.

His palm was sweaty. His face was pale.

But his expression remained determined.

"Oh?"

Kasenhis picked up the Redstone, inspecting it before sighing in mild surprise.

"Not bad… good potential." He leaned forward. "Now, tell me why."

Neville swallowed hard before answering.

"I… I want to use Alchemy to make gifts… for Harry and the others."

"They're my… my best friends."

"Even though I'm like this, they never—never looked down on me."

Kasenhis squinted slightly, amused by Neville's awkward expression.

"Hmm… barely passable. But at least your magical reserves are stronger than most second-years."

Neville's face lit up. "So, Professor, does that mean… you agree?"

"I agree, but—" Kasenhis tapped his desk. "You can't keep this a secret from your three little friends."

"Or, well… you can keep what you're making a secret. That part is fine. A surprise gift? That's great."

"But learning Alchemy behind their backs? That's not okay. If you really consider them your friends, don't hide it from them."

"Think about it—if you secretly start improving yourself while keeping them in the dark, it makes you look a bit sneaky. It might make them feel like you're not being honest with them."

"Of course," Kasenhis smiled, "I know that's not your intention."

He patiently explained his point.

Neville scratched the back of his head. "Uhh… so what should I do now? Professor, can you maybe… help me, like, act it out first?"

"No need. Just tell them the truth."

"Or—" Kasenhis grinned. "Bring them all here. I'll play the bad guy. I'll reject all of them and only accept you."

"Wait, what?"

"Relax. They won't hold a grudge against me."

Neville nodded slowly. "Thank you, Professor! But… I'll think of a better excuse. I already feel bad enough that you're letting me do this."

Then, he turned around… and started running.

Kasenhis watched Neville disappear into the distance, jogging back towards the castle.

"...Should I build him a portal?"

He thought about it.

"…Nah. Exercise is good for the body."

Still… the thought of Neville running this entire distance every day just to learn Alchemy made Kasenhis want to laugh.

"Pfft! What a cute child."

Kasenhis snickered.

Just then—

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A red crystal ball on his desk flashed.

He casually pressed it. A faint glow pulsed along the redstone wiring in the ceiling, and with a click—the door in the distance swung open.

And in walked Lockhart.

Or rather...

Tom Riddle, playing dress-up.

Instinctively, Tom's gaze drifted toward what should have been the Alchemy Professor's desk.

Instead, his eyes landed on—

"Is this... a Quidditch stadium?" Tom stepped into the massive Alchemy office, looking around with genuine surprise.

One corner of the room, separated by glass walls, housed a colossal machine.

The towering structure whirred and clicked, operating with silent precision.

Even with an 'Outstanding' in Alchemy during his school days, Tom Riddle had no idea what he was looking at.

Not even the slightest clue.

The mechanisms. The purpose. The logic.

Nothing made sense.

Kasenhis, lounging in his chair, barely spared him a glance.

"What do you want?"

His voice dripped with disinterest.

Tom—still masquerading as Lockhart—smiled.

It was a perfectly practiced, charismatic smile.

Even though it looked painfully out of place on Lockhart's face.

"I've come to mend our friendship."

Having rummaged through Lockhart's memories, Tom naturally knew the source of their conflict.

Kasenhis raised an eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

He leaned back, tone dripping with sarcasm.

"Well, I must thank you, oh great and mighty best-selling author, Gilderoy Lockhart.

Tell me—why aren't you off in the wilderness, using that 'brilliant' Enchanted Book Therapy you supposedly 'invented' to cure some poor werewolf?"

Kasenhis tilted his head, voice mocking.

"Oh? You can't? Do you need me to teach you?

Or is that perfectly polished, empty little skull of yours too full of fake smiles to actually learn?"

Tom, still grinning, spoke smoothly.

"I sincerely apologize. That's precisely why I'm here today… to offer you my apologies."

Kasenhis clicked his tongue, surprised that Lockhart had finally managed to say something remotely human. For once, it was enough for him to actually lift his gaze and look at the man properly. 

[Human] [Magic] [Soul] 

Soul? 

Kasenhis frowned.

That label was new. It hadn't been there this morning, not even during breakfast. And it certainly hadn't appeared the last time he buried Lockhart headfirst in the dirt.

Yet here it was now. That was a problem—a serious one. Something was very, very off.

It was the kind of warning sign that made him sit up a little straighter, resting his elbows on the chair's armrests as he narrowed his eyes. 

"What do you want?" 

Lockhart—or rather, Tom Riddle wearing a Lockhart mask—kept his face perfectly composed, an air of sincerity radiating from his every movement. "I've really come to seek your forgiveness." 

Yeah, right. As if. 

Kasenhis wasn't an idiot. He could see through the deception, and he had a pretty good guess at the real reason Tom was here. The bastard was sizing him up, trying to figure out exactly how strong he was.

If Kasenhis turned out to be only marginally stronger than Lockhart—just a bit beyond an average professor—then Tom wouldn't hesitate. He'd go for the kill immediately, right here, right now, and finish the job before even stepping out of the office.

But the moment he actually stepped into the alchemy office, things didn't quite go as he had expected.

Sure, alchemists were known for their wealth, to the point where even their quills were practically enchanted artifacts. And yes, most of them tended to have a few precautions in place—maybe some enchanted armor, protective amulets, or the occasional nasty curse trap lurking in a corner. But Tom Riddle wasn't afraid of any of that. He had prepared for such things.

What he hadn't prepared for… was this.

This alchemy office was not ordinary.

Forget everything else—the size of the place alone was ridiculous. It was nearly as large as the Black Lake. And then there was that thing hanging from the ceiling. A chandelier? No. It looked like one, sure, but right in the center of it was a gaping hollow space.

And no matter how he looked at it… it looked an awful lot like the mouth of a cannon.

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P@treon: Dragonel