In just a short while, Tom had already worked out the directions for improvent.
Not only did he think of ways to enhance it in the usual sense—he even ca up with reverse optimizations.
"Co on, let's try it a few more tis."
Raising his wand again, Tom began testing for new weaknesses. Daphne found the whole process fun rather than tedious.
The second ti, she let the wand fly far away before summoning it back. The third ti, she waited until it had completely fallen into Tom's hand before testing how much force it could withstand.
It was fortunate Tom's strength, bolstered by his Fire Dragon bloodline and his almost unbreakable physique, far exceeded that of an ordinary adult wizard—otherwise, no normal wizard could have held on.
The last test was for maximum summoning distance—five hundred ters.
Beyond that range, there was no reaction at all, and at exactly five hundred ters, the wand's speed when returning would begin to slow noticeably.
After jotting down a few more key points, Tom finally took the bracelet from Daphne's reluctant hands. Only after promising to make her a prettier, more perfect one did she smile again.
Since there was still ti, Tom began improving the bracelet.
At six o'clock sharp, Mrs. Greengrass returned from the Ministry.
That was one of the perks of the wizarding world—the commute was so short it was practically negligible.
The skilled could simply Apparate, while the less adept could take the Floo Network. Either way, it only took a mont to get ho.
After dinner, Tom brought the improved armguard to Mrs. Greengrass's study and demonstrated its functions and usage.
"Interesting idea," Mrs. Greengrass remarked as she examined the armguard. "Perfect for Aurors and Hit Wizards. Five hundred ters isn't short at all—it could handle any sudden incident, letting you retrieve your wand instantly. That makes it far more versatile."
Aside from the Disarming Charm, many spells carried strong physical impact, which could easily knock a wand from a wizard's hand. Tom's invention was clever—and practical.
"What's your plan exactly? And what about the cost to replicate it? If it's easy for soone to steal the idea, that'll be troubleso—we'd have to cover a lot of bases, possibly even push for legislative protection."
It wasn't that she didn't understand Alchemy—it was that she understood almost nothing of it, and couldn't gauge the bracelet's technical depth.
If it was a high-barrier technique, hard to copy, she could promote it with ease. But if it wasn't… well, then the only defense would be legal pressure and political influence to intimidate would-be imitators.
It was like Portkeys—making them wasn't particularly difficult. But because they could be used for smuggling and might hurt the Ministry's interests, their use was banned outright.
Tom thought for a mont. "The difficulty… is moderate. I'd say the number of people in all of Britain who could replicate it wouldn't exceed five."
"That few? Then if anyone copies it, we'll know exactly who to go after—and we'll just knock on their door directly."
Though Tom had never taken Alchemy very seriously before, treating it like a hobby or leisure reading, these past few days were different.
Thanks to his daily Transcendent State training combined with the ditation Room—and his inherently powerful soul—he could learn in one day what would take a diocre wizard a year or two.
At Hogwarts, Alchemy wasn't taught until the sixth or seventh year, and even then, it was an optional subject with barely any students. Graduating didn't even an you'd truly started learning it.
Tom's estimate of "five people" likely included a few pure-bloods with family traditions in the craft.
"That's good," Mrs. Greengrass said in relief. "It'll make things much easier for . Tomorrow, I'll speak with Bones to help you secure an official Ministry order."
"Bones… you an the head of the Departnt of Magical Law Enforcent?" Tom asked.
Mrs. Greengrass nodded. "Yes—she's Susan Bones' aunt."
Tom frowned slightly. "If we're dealing with the Ministry, shouldn't we be talking to the Auror Office? Their current head should be Scrimgeour, right?"
At that na, a flicker of disdain crossed Mrs. Greengrass's eyes.
"Yes, Scrimgeour is the head of the Auror Office—but he's just a puffed-up fool. Aside from being outwardly tough and holding the right stance, he's utterly lacking in ability. He's got no friends in the Ministry."
"If you go to him directly, he'll definitely find all kinds of excuses to push the price down—claiming it's to save Ministry funds, when in reality it's just to make himself look good. Bones is technically his superior, so letting her make the call is perfectly within regulations."
Tom didn't know much about the Ministry's inner workings—just a few important nas—but since his future mother-in-law had put it that way, he decided to strike Scrimgeour off the list of potential partners.
In his previous life, when he'd read the original books, he'd had so respect for Scrimgeour—the hardliner who'd rather die than give up Harry's location.
But it turned out he was just a flashy spearhead—sharp-looking but hollow inside.
Having good character without ability was still a problem. Such people often ruined things with good intentions—and you couldn't even be angry at them without discouraging their followers and allies.
Look at Dumbledore: how many tis had Hagrid gotten him into trouble, only for him to quietly clean up the ss afterward?
"Selling directly to the Ministry isn't a problem, but I'd still like to open a shop in Diagon Alley, selling to ordinary wizards too."
Academic papers earned credits based on influence, and product sales—if they earned credits as well—would likely depend on market reputation and share.
Mrs. Greengrass nodded. "That's a small matter. But can you keep up with supply on your own?"
Tom grinned. "There are only so many wizards in Britain. Of those, only a fraction both need this and can afford it. If I focus for a while, I'll be able to et the demand."
He handed her a parchnt. "These are the materials I'll need. You can stock up—it'll help drive the price down."
After discussing his requirents for the shop, Tom left her study.
The next day, he began preparing the Elixir of Life for Astoria.
In Alchemy, the ultimate principle was equivalent exchange. The Philosopher's Stone was essentially a massive reservoir of magic power—converting magic into life force, which ca close to that principle. This was why so many said it was the pinnacle of Alchemy.
But it was only "close"—not perfect.
First, the Stone could only transform specific substances—silver into gold, stone into iron ore—it wasn't universally adaptable.
Second, this wasn't true equivalent exchange. The Elixir of Life could extend life but not halt aging, because the life force it produced lacked vitality.
Nicolas Flal had to rely on his knowledge of potions, combining the Elixir with rare herbs to slow aging—but even so, it couldn't sustain him for six hundred years. Now, the Flal couple was probably more fragile than a crisp potato chip.
Astoria's condition was different—she just needed to prolong her life—so quality wasn't as critical, and a slightly inferior brew would be fine.
Tom's first few attempts weren't great. According to Flal's records, a normal Elixir could last three months; his early batches would last only a month and a half to two.
Later ones were better, reaching the perfect three-month duration.
After making ten doses, he stopped. There was no expiration date, and he could always brew more when needed. For now, it was just practice.
The Elixir of Life was one of the most difficult potions to make, and the process had given Tom many insights into potion-making. He even jotted down so fresh ideas for future research papers.
He'd grown rather fond of publishing papers—just the steady three thousand credits per month was enough motivation. And with daily Transcendent State , his growth ti could be shortened dramatically.
That evening, Tom t a guest at Greengrass Manor for the first ti.
A stern-faced, impeccably dressed middle-aged witch arrived alongside Mrs. Greengrass.
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