Hogwarts: I can inherit the legacy of the dead

Meka Anders found a hotel near the King's Station, washed up, and lay down on the bed.

He opened the books he bought and took a quick look.

From these books, they can be simply classified into several subjects, basic magic, magical herbology, flying class, defense... From here, we can roughly see the first-year teaching curriculum of Hogwarts.

Meka took out a book that he was most interested in.

"Standard Spells Elementary".

This is a compulsory course for the basic magic course. As the title says, there are only some elementary magic spells here, not advanced magic.

There are repair spells, unlocking spells, locking spells...

Meka was very interested in it and was eager to try it.

"Give it a try."

"Maybe there are spells that are more suitable for me here, and I can learn them all at once?"

He looked out the window.

There is a lush tree next to the window of the hotel.

The branches were lush and some leaves were blown down by the wind and fell on the windowsill. The leaves rustled, and through the treetops, Maeka saw the moon at night.

There was no sound outside, and only the sound of the residents downstairs taking a shower could be heard.

No one would see what he was doing.

"For safety reasons."

Maeka closed the curtains and hid in the quilt, and reached out to take the table lamp beside the bed.

He used the light of the table lamp to read the words in the book and learn those spells with fewer words and easier to look at.

Spells, gestures, meditation.

These are all very important in magic. As long as any of them goes wrong, magic cannot be formed.

It took a long time for Maeka to sit in the quilt, read the important matters of the three spells, and tried them.

Unfortunately, things did not go as he wished. His wand was like a piece of firewood at this time and could not do anything.

Maeka summarized, re-read, looked for problems he might encounter, and thought of ways to solve them. Finally, he felt that he had made some progress in the repair spell.

At this time, the time had come to more than 12 o'clock in the morning.

The yellow light illuminated his face, and a piece of white paper was torn into pieces and scattered in the quilt.

Meka took a deep breath.

"Restored as before."

Meka felt a twitch between his eyebrows, as if power was being extracted.

The hair on his right hand seemed to be blown by the wind and stood up.

A special coolness flowed through his body like water, but it disappeared in the ups and downs like a wave.

A faint light flickered on the magic wand.

It was swaying and flickering like a candle, as if it was about to be extinguished.

Meka was surprised and smiled:

"OK..."

Puff.

There was an invisible wind blowing in the quilt, which seemed to blow out the light and the magic wand returned to its original state.

Meka was stunned for a moment.

"I can see that the mental power level is not wrong. I am indeed not a genius."

He exhaled, packed up his things, and lay on the bed.

Before going to bed, Maeka held the broken wand in his hand.

The leaves rustled.

The moonlight fell into the window.

…

This is a simple wooden house.

The furnishings in the house are simple, with a table, a chair, and a bed.

There are some things on the table, almost all of which are tools for potion learning, including crucibles, beakers filled with green solution, and various medicine bottles with labels.

Some unnamed herbs and some biological tissues are also put into glass bottles and piled in the corner of the house.

An old man stood in front of the table.

He carefully put some herbal powder into the beaker of green solution.

The solution in the beaker seemed to be boiling, and bubbles kept rolling.

Obviously, the solution is undergoing some changes.

"Will it work?"

"Will it work?"

The old man's face is terrible, as if he was burned, and as if he was corroded by some corrosive solution, almost all over the right side of his face.

He muttered to himself, looking at the solution in the beaker nervously.

After a while, the solution in the beaker seemed to have passed the test, the bubbles disappeared, and it became calm.

The old man's shoulders trembled with excitement, and he reached out to touch the beaker.

This touch seemed to trigger some kind of reaction again, and cracks appeared on the beaker.

The old man was stunned.

A white light came out from the green solution, and it became very bright, like a beam of light shining directly into the eyes, which was very dazzling.

The old man had no time to react.

Bang!

The solution in the beaker, mixed with glass fragments and dazzling light, exploded as if it caused a gunpowder explosion.

The solution drenched the old man, making a corrosive hissing sound.

This solution is terrible.

The skin on the old man's hands and body began to age, burn, and carbonize visibly, and holes were corroded in his clothes, which shows how corrosive it is.

The old man screamed in pain and knelt on the ground, unable to open his eyes.

The door of the wooden house was knocked open.

"Father!"

A middle-aged man rushed in, looking anxious, and quickly gave the old man some simple treatment.

But it was too late.

The old man's right fingernail had fallen off, and his index finger and thumb were bloody, as if they had been rolled in a boiling oil pan.

His hand had drooped, and his wrist was charred like burnt charcoal.

The hand was already disabled.

"My hand."

"My hand."

"Deal with my hand first, I still have to make medicine, my hand can't have any problems!"

The old man shouted.

He seemed to be unable to feel his hand, and the pain all over his body distracted his attention.

The middle-aged man who was treating the wound on his hand showed a bitter expression when he saw the injury on his hand.

"Father, your hand..."

But his voice was drowned out by the old man's shouting.

The old man was in pain, but he still shouted "My hand, my hand." Although he shouted loudly, he was not emotional, obviously he had encountered such things many times.

After his right hand was wrapped in gauze and the pain-relieving potion he drank took effect, the old man finally slowly opened his eyes.

The first thing he looked at was his hand.

When he saw this, the old man was stunned.

The pain-relieving potion made him lose basic consciousness, and he couldn't feel the injury, but the gauze on his wrist sank in, as if a large piece of flesh was suddenly missing from his wrist.

His right hand was still drooping.

The old man tried to move his right hand.

"Move."

"Move a little."

"Move a little!"

The old man shouted excitedly.

His right hand still didn't move even a little.

He shouted excitedly for a while, then stopped making any sound, sitting on the ground in a daze, motionless.

The middle-aged man didn't know how to comfort him at all.

He shouted.

"Father?"

The old man didn't respond.

He shouted again.

"Father?"

The old man finally heard his voice, turned his head and looked at him, tears rolling down his eyes.

"Joseph, my hand is crippled."

The middle-aged man looked reluctant and hugged the old man who was crying like a child.

"Father, it's okay, I can't make potions, I'll help you."

"Different."

The old man shook his head.

"Different."

"How can this be the same?"

"I once vowed to become an alchemist like Nick Flamel, how can I let others help me make potions? The whole potion world will laugh at me."

The old man shook his head vigorously.

The middle-aged man was somewhat helpless, but seeing the old man's pale face and excited eyes, he was obviously still very concerned.

"Father."

The middle-aged man thought:

"We can't handle such injuries ourselves, don't worry, we will find a good doctor to treat you."

"Can it be cured?"

The old man looked at his hand in confusion and shook his head quickly:

"It can't be cured, Joseph, I know."

The middle-aged man said again: "Let's go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Injuries and Diseases, where the most outstanding doctors in the entire magic world gather, and they will definitely help you cure this hand."

"Okay."

The old man shook his head: "Joseph, I want to be alone, you go out first."

The middle-aged man hesitated, as if he felt that he shouldn't leave such an emotional old man alone.

The old man smiled palely: "Don't worry, I won't think too much."

The middle-aged man hesitated for a while, but still walked out of the house under the old man's persuasion.

It was late at night.

The old man looked at the night outside the window and showed a look of longing.

"Teacher, I once told you that I would definitely perfect the formula of the potion you left behind."

"I have always believed that I can do it. I am not talented, but you said that I work hard. If I study potions for decades, I might become an outstanding potion master."

"I have always believed that I can complete what you asked me to do. Even though I am very old, I still believe that I can perfect it before I die."

The old man muttered to himself, and his face began to show a painful expression.

"But now, I can't do it anymore."

"Teacher."

"I can't do it anymore. I am disabled, teacher. I thought about asking my child to help me, but I can't do it either. I don't want him to become like me, a half-human and half-ghost."

"Teacher, I miss you. You left too early. A talented potion master like you shouldn't leave so early."

The old man took out a wand from his arms and stroked it like he was stroking a child.

"This is the wand you bought for me before I entered the magic school."

"You said it would probably accompany me throughout my magic career."

"Now..."

The old man looked at everything in the house reluctantly, at the beakers, crucibles, herbs that accompanied him for a lifetime...

He looked out the window again.

"My child."

"Forgive me for being an unqualified father."

Crack.

The wand broke in half in his hand.

He took out a black potion from his pocket, paused for a moment, and drank it down in one gulp.

The potion boiled like a line of fire and penetrated into his body.

The old man closed his eyes.

Gone forever.

...

The scenes in front of him faded, like mist dissipating and phantoms disappearing.

Only an old man stood at the table, refining potions day after day.

The old man was skilled in his technique, muttering to himself:

"It has to work."

"It has to work."

"I have to complete the teacher's potion formula."

He kept repeating these two sentences, like a puppet, repeating them over and over again, without getting tired.

Da.

Da.

It was like the sound of stepping on the water.

Meka Anders walked out of the darkness and came to the old man.

He looked carefully at the old man's face.

The old man's face was still terrifying, filled with corroded holes, densely packed like a honeycomb.

But his expression was focused and sacred.

"Ollivander said he was ambitious and a hard worker."

"Now it seems that he is a terrible person."

Meka couldn't help but sigh.

This old man has regarded potions as his lifelong career. Like an ascetic, he does such boring things day after day, year after year, without getting tired of it.

This kind of terrifying concentration is not something ordinary people can possess.

"But now, I want to help him achieve his lifetime wish."

Meka Anders looked sad.

Old people grow up through failure.

The scene before his death, his face, and his hands all proved that his wish during his lifetime was probably a big trouble.

Although Meka is also interested in refining potions, he cannot have the concentration of the old man, nor the patience that he has for decades.

While I was distressed, the wind blew in the sky.

Meka looked up.

A ray of golden light fell down along with the wind that came from nowhere, leaving many words in front of him as if composing music.

"A wand of thoughts and blessings."

"From: Domon Levitt."

"Optional legacy:"

"1. Level 8 mental power level (what's left of the soul)"

"2. Low potions talent (can be fused)"

"3. 20 years of experience in using potion equipment. (What's left of the soul)"

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