130- Half-Human, Half-Snake
Pushing Damocles' body aside, Rhys sat down on the chair and began to sort through the fragnted mories he had just glimpsed.
There was no doubt that Damocles was an excellent potioneer, and his clinic was always filled with people seeking his dical expertise and potions.
Once, a monk who claid to be from the "Secret Order" approached him, asking for a total of seventeen potions, including the highly complex Felix Felicis. In return, the monk offered only a tattered page said to be a remnant of a dieval potions book, on the condition that Damocles swore not to reveal anything about the page or their dealings to anyone else.
The deal seed quite unequal, but the few scribbled phrases at the beginning of the page piqued Damocles' curiosity enough that he agreed to the transaction. It took him an entire year to gather those seventeen potions.
That torn page was what inspired him to develop the Wolfsbane Potion.
Shortly after the Wolfsbane Potion was completed, Mr. Jamison Henry Greengrass approached him. According to Damocles' plan, if he could cure Astoria, he would do his best to treat her; if not, he would prescribe her a placebo that would improve her physical condition. He figured that if he couldn't cure her, other potioneers and healers wouldn't be able to either, so he might as well make her comfortable.
But whether or not he could cure Astoria, Damocles initially had no intention of making money off the Greengrass family.
His plan was to use the influence of the Greengrass family to promote his Wolfsbane Potion.
Once he beca famous, won awards, and reaped the benefits, he would then squeeze money out of Mr. Jamison Greengrass.
This was the conclusion Rhys ca to after piecing together the fragnts of mory.
'Again, the Secret Order!'
Rhys couldn't help but rub his chin. Stealing divine remains, assisting in the developnt of the Wolfsbane Potion, and spending "big money" to gather intelligence on the wizarding world—this organization seed to harbor a strong animosity toward wizards.
Now, the Mystic Order had fully captured Rhys' attention.
He stood up from the chair and began to clean up Damocles' residence.
Despite being a renowned potioneer, Damocles' living quarters were starkly mismatched with his status—he lived in a rather desolate apartnt on the outskirts of London.
The exterior walls of the apartnt had lost their paint, replaced by various graffiti, and none of the windows in the corridors were intact. The best feature of the building was the doors of the individual apartnts, which, though worn and old, still served their purpose.
Who would have thought that a potioneer would live in such a place?
Inside, the apartnt space was much larger than it appeared on the outside, thanks to magic. However, it was cluttered with an overwhelming number of books and newspapers.
The only relatively tidy area was his study, where many of his notes and letters were neatly arranged on shelves.
Searching such a place would have been ti-consuming and labor-intensive for an ordinary person.
But Rhys had a way to take shortcuts. He expanded his domain, and soon the entire apartnt was shrouded in steam, with the floor turning into a muddy swamp.
Rhys imrsed himself fully, his senses enveloping everything within the apartnt.
Gurgle, gurgle...
A few booklets surfaced—these were all of Damocles' notes on the Wolfsbane Potion.
Considering that Damocles had ntioned he hadn't made the potion's formula public, and that the Mystic Order only had partial notes, these booklets contained the only existing thod to produce the Wolfsbane Potion in this world.
Rhys picked up the notes and, after a mont of contemplation, decided not to destroy them. Instead, he kept them, believing that with his modifications, the potion could be developed for new and valuable uses.
The remaining docunts held no trace of the Secret Order and appeared worthless to Rhys.
Damocles hadn't stored any potion ingredients in his ho either, which left Rhys a bit disappointed.
Standing once more on solid ground, Rhys closed his domain. The water vapor in the air gradually dissipated, and the swampy floor returned to its original wooden state.
Even though he had taken the Wolfsbane Potion formula, Rhys decided to destroy the entire apartnt to erase all traces.
"Just because I specialize in water doesn't an I can't use fire," Rhys muttered as a small fla ignited at his fingertip.
...
"Last evening, a gas explosion occurred on Whitechapel Street in London, resulting in at least one fatality. Witnesses reported that the explosion happened around 6 PM, with intense flas and thick smoke billowing from the scene. The surrounding buildings and streets suffered varying degrees of damage, leaving the area in ruins...—"
Uncle Vernon grunted in disapproval and changed the channel.
"The pipes in those slums are as brittle as cookie crumbs, so it's no surprise there was an explosion there—oh, and Petunia, rember to send so food up to that boy. We don't want him burning the house down," Uncle Vernon grumbled.
The "boy" Uncle Vernon referred to was, of course, his "dear" nephew, Harry Potter.
Harry was currently locked in a room on the second floor, grounded by Uncle Vernon after an incident where a cake mysteriously floated above the head of one of Vernon's important clients and then dropped onto him.
As a result, Uncle Vernon missed out on a potential path to financial freedom, and Harry was rewarded with a sumr of confinent, despite his repeated claims that he wasn't responsible for the incident.
Aunt Petunia huffed in annoyance as she reluctantly went to bring Harry his al.
However, a simple grounding couldn't prevent Harry from returning to the magical world. A few hours later, a flying car hovered outside the Dursleys' second-floor window, tore off the burglar bars, and whisked Harry away.
Harry spent the rest of his sumr at the Weasleys' house, a situation that mirrored Rhys's in so ways, as Rhys spent his sumr at the Greengrass Manor.
On the night Rhys visited Damocles's house, Mr. Jamison Greengrass eagerly applied the potion Rhys had given him to his beloved daughter. What he witnessed next was an image he would never forget: a wisp of white mist rose from her forehead and gradually gathered at the head of her bed, taking shape.
To his horror, the mist condensed into a half-human, half-snake creature!
The creature's upper body resembled Astoria's, looking sweet and pitiful, but the girl's legs had been replaced by a snake's tail.
Astoria's manifested soul was not only grotesque in shape, but its overall color was also alarming.
While most of it was white, it was marred by nurous ugly black spots—evidence of the blood curse that was corrupting her soul, continuously expanding and growing stronger.
One day, Astoria's soul would be completely transford into the shape of a snake.
Just one look and you'll understand how tricky Astoria's current situation is.
Even Rhys was secretly shocked: Astoria's physical condition was worse than he had imagined.
Looking at the appearance of his daughter's soul, Mr. Greengrass was speechless for a long ti as if he was under a petrification spell.
It was not until Rhys promised to help find a solution and a magic potion for treatnt that he forced a smile and thanked Rhys. But Rhys could see that there was no spark in those once proudful eyes.
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