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"I don't get it, Chapman. I handed you the potion—why couldn't you just stay inside the damn shop?"
"Why drag those two idiots out with you?"
"Now one's locked up and the other's vanished…"
Knockturn Alley. A shuttered storefront that hadn't seen daylight in years. Basement level two.
The place was damp and pitch-black except for a rusty brazier hanging from the ceiling that gave off a weak, flickering glow. The long table was cluttered with every kind of potion-making tool imaginable. A pair of skeletal hands, stripped of flesh, gripped a pestle and ground ingredients in a slow, unnatural rhythm.
In front of a massive cauldron, an old wizard covered in acne calmly snatched up a rat that had just scurried past his foot and dropped it into the bubbling emerald liquid.
A high-pitched, wheezing sound escaped his throat.
"Master…"
Chapman's scarred face twisted as he leaned forward, speaking carefully.
"We were starving. Everything in the shop belongs to you—we didn't dare touch it. So we slipped out at night to find food."
"We just didn't expect to run into anyone… we had no choice…"
His words sounded apologetic, but a strange glint flashed in his eyes.
The old wizard exhaled a puff of gray mist through his nose. He didn't bother scolding them any further. In his eyes they were nothing more than three dogs. Losing one or two made no difference.
He kept stirring the cauldron. The basement sank into an eerie silence.
Only when the emerald liquid began giving off a sharp, stinging odor did he finally speak again.
"So? How does it feel after taking the potion?"
"Better than anything I've ever felt!" Chapman lifted his head, eyes burning with fanatic hunger. "Even after turning into a werewolf, I stayed completely rational! That power… that rush… I can't stop thinking about it."
As he spoke, his body began to twitch. His breathing quickened, his gaze grew glassy, his mouth went dry.
He was already craving another dose.
"Hmph. Of course. This is the Moonseed Potion I spent years perfecting after countless failures."
The old wizard scooped up a long ladle and stirred the bubbling green liquid.
Scoop. Pour.
Splash.
Chapman stared at the liquid, throat working convulsively.
The old wizard tilted his head, watching Chapman's reaction, and the corner of his mouth curled upward.
He ladled another scoop, turned, and looked straight at him.
Chapman didn't straighten up. Instead he dropped to his knees.
"This time I'll call it a field test of the Moonseed Potion. From now on you do exactly what I say. You move when I tell you to move. Understood?"
The old wizard gave a sinister smile.
"Yes, Great Mage! Yes, Great Mage!"
Chapman had abandoned every scrap of human dignity. He tilted his head back like a begging dog, mouth wide open, eyes pleading.
The old wizard nodded in satisfaction and moved the ladle over Chapman's mouth.
The spoon tipped.
Still-scalding green potion poured down his throat. Even as it burned him, Chapman didn't flinch.
A single cloudy tear slid from the corner of his eye.
It's mine… all of it is mine…
Pain and pleasure twisted together on his face.
"Remember this. On the next full moon I need you to find more companions…"
"Only when we have enough can we finish the Prophet's lost work!"
---
9 Silver Maple Road, Maple District, Pro County.
A small yellow car pulled up slowly. Richie stepped out, pulling his rolling suitcase behind him.
Inside, Mrs. Harland was in the kitchen fixing lunch.
Even though she was pregnant, she refused to lie in bed and be waited on. She kept moving, staying active.
She'd taken a full year of paid maternity leave from her dental job. The Grangers dropped by often to check on her. Mrs. Granger had even mentioned wanting another baby herself—though for some reason she'd dropped the idea.
"Oh, Richie?"
Mrs. Harland poked her head out of the kitchen just as he walked into the living room.
"Wash up—we're eating soon! I tried a brand-new recipe!"
Richie's whole body gave an involuntary shudder.
The Christmas cheese pizza had actually been decent, but one success wasn't nearly enough to erase years of culinary trauma.
Still… skipping it wasn't an option.
He sighed and answered with as much enthusiasm as he could manage.
A minute later Denton parked the car and walked in. The second he heard his wife was cooking, his face fell.
Richie saw the look and any last shred of hope died.
Should've grabbed something on the way home, they both thought at the exact same moment.
---
Richie's self-discipline was ironclad. The same afternoon he got back from Diagon Alley he sat down and mapped out his entire summer study schedule: everything left in the second-year curriculum, more alchemy runes, and several deeper research projects.
A week slipped by.
One morning, while Richie was at his desk reading, someone knocked on his bedroom door.
"Come in."
He didn't even look up.
"Richie."
"What book is that?"
The familiar voice made him turn. There stood a bushy-haired young witch.
"Hermione?"
She walked straight in, head high, and stopped beside his desk.
"You're already on second-year material?"
Richie was reviewing The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2—the copy Professor Flitwick had lent him and then simply given him for good.
Hermione glanced at how far he'd gotten and felt a small pang of competitive pressure.
"How did you even get here?" Richie asked, curious.
"Your mom said you've been shut inside studying the whole time and haven't made any friends, so she asked me to come hang out." Hermione answered bluntly, then added, "She's worried you're turning into a total bookworm. That's my guess, anyway."
Richie almost laughed. Hermione spent her own summers glued to books, so the concern felt a little hypocritical.
He had plenty of friends at Hogwarts—his Ravenclaw roommates, the Gryffindor study group, even a few Hufflepuffs from the Starlight Sanctum. He wasn't exactly lonely.
And with his mom sporting a very visible baby bump, family vacations were off the table.
Staying home and studying made perfect sense.
Hermione actually approved. In her mind, summer was the perfect time for Richie to pull even further ahead.
Straight-line takeoff.