Just do it.
Adrian Blackwood meticulously arranged the required materials in the precise order indicated by both Rowena Ravenclaw's manuscript and Jebir's alchemical principles. Each substance was carefully prepared and placed into the appropriate marble groove, forming a six-pointed star—the ancient symbol of magical equilibrium, frequently used in both Eastern and Western alchemical circles.
Around the great furnace stood two sculptures: a majestic silver-white giant eagle on the left and a shadow-wreathed raven on the right. Though immobile, they radiated power. The eagle glowed with a soft silvery brilliance, while the raven exuded a dense black mist—so deep and consuming that Adrian suspected it wasn't lightlessness, but a different kind of light altogether. Both creatures had their beaks directly aligned above the open crucible.
The crucible itself was a masterpiece. Its surface was adorned with an intricate bas-relief of a five-headed dragon, each head sculpted in a different color: red, blue, black, green, and white. The dragon's neck scales shimmered like opal, shifting hue depending on Adrian's angle of view. Most prominent was the central red dragon, its mouth positioned just above the furnace's crucible. From its stone teeth hung a faint crimson residue—this was where the unknown raw core of the Philosopher's Stone was formed, according to Ravenclaw's notes.
As Adrian channeled magic into the base of the furnace following the runic diagram in Rowena's scroll, the remaining dragon heads stirred.
One by one, the blue, black, green, and white dragon mouths came to life. With a sound like wind rushing through stone tunnels, each began to exhale elemental breaths: cold vapor, shadow flame, acidic mist, and luminous gas. Their magical emissions spiraled inward and converged above the crucible, igniting the air and raising the temperature exponentially. The five elements—heat, void, corrosion, purity, and vitality—melded into a controlled inferno.
Above the furnace, the mural across the front wall glowed to life.
Two celestial bodies—the Sun and Moon, both etched with ancient human faces—appeared in opposite corners of the star-strewn ceiling mural, moving in slow arcs. They were part of an astrological timing mechanism, displaying the ideal phase-alignment for each alchemical step. Their shifting positions mirrored the slow, dangerous ticking of an hourglass filled with stardust.
Adrian moved with care and clarity.
He inserted the first components—calcinated bone dust and yellow blood salt—into the raven's beak. Then purified mercury and sunstone powder into the eagle's. The materials dropped from the open beaks and landed precisely in the crucible's center. The sound they made—delicate, almost musical—was followed by faint shifts in the crucible's color and scent.
The temperature continued to climb. As it did, the sculpted mouths of the eagle, the raven, and the central dragon widened again—like ruminating creatures awakened by ritual.
Then came the first transformation.
From the eagle's beak poured a stream of fluid resembling liquid silver, suspended somewhere between vapor and metal. It shimmered with the radiance of Aguamenti filtered through diamond. From the raven's beak oozed a slow, almost animate black jelly, denser than ink, as if it absorbed both light and magic. Finally, from the red dragon's mouth, a blood-red elixir trickled forth—viscous, glowing, and alive with violent alchemical potential.
Adrian paused, watching the three liquids circle each other within the crucible like cautious beasts. He compared what he saw to the two manuscripts before him. While Ravenclaw and Jebir differed in structure and symbol systems, their meanings were clear:
The silver liquid represented mercurial transformation—the essence that could alter the very structure of matter, responsible for the transmutation of lead into gold.
The black jelly was the embodiment of absorption—drawing in the latent power of every ingredient and stabilizing the matrix of the Stone.
The blood-red fluid—vibrating with inner energy—contained vital force, the element tied to life extension and healing, the foundation of the Elixir of Life.
But there was something missing. Both manuscripts stopped short of explaining the creation of the core material—the alchemical seed needed to catalyze the Philosopher's Stone. From scattered fragments and context clues, Adrian pieced together a dark truth.
Rowena's notes hinted at a sin, a sacrifice—a price. The rough stone might require the life force of another, willingly or otherwise. That, perhaps, was why Ravenclaw herself had never completed it. Some pages had clearly been torn from the scroll, the entries growing more erratic near the end. Adrian guessed she had chosen not to leave the worst part behind.
He clenched his wand tighter.
No matter. I'll find another way.
Alchemy, like potion-making—originally a discipline born from it—was a tedious, precision-driven art. Mistiming a single ingredient could ruin hours, days, even months of effort—or worse, cause magical backlash. Adrian moved with intense focus, adjusting the crucible's temperature using a blend of Incendio Modulatus and the precise furnace symbols Ravenclaw had inscribed in the margin.
He had no idea how long he worked. Hours passed—maybe more. The Sun and Moon on the mural shifted subtly, signaling key transitions. With every cycle, Adrian added more substances—dragonsbane root, salamander scale, pure powdered emerald—always in perfect rhythm.
Though once or twice, he nearly made mistakes. A lapse in his concentration nearly led him to add moonstone salt two rotations early—a mistake that could have created a volatile reaction. Thankfully, he caught himself in time, breathing heavily, sweat streaming down his face.
The final steps neared.
At this point, Adrian had ceased counting hours. But he was grateful, at least, that this wasn't a half-year ritual like the ancient Tibetan Remediation Cycle. The trial, though brutal, had been designed to be completed by someone within a day—assuming their focus never faltered.
In that moment, amid firelight, fumes, and hovering parchment, Adrian Blackwood stood at the center of an ancient, magical alchemical chamber—not just a first-year Ravenclaw, but a scholar walking in the footsteps of Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
The crucible pulsed. The silver, black, and red liquids were merging into a unified core.
It was almost time.
At the final moment of the alchemical process, there was no time for Adrian Blackwood to worry about what he might say to explain his mysterious disappearance upon returning to Hogwarts. That concern would have to wait. He was seconds away from adding the final, most precious component to the crucible—the wing of a Hermes bird.
As the iridescent feathered wing dissolved into the superheated mixture, the three alchemical substances—silver, black, and red—suddenly twisted together, reacting violently. They churned into a murky dark green sludge, forming an irregular, unstable mass. Adrian's heart sank. That hue… it matched the failure state described in Rowena Ravenclaw's manuscript.
Gritting his teeth, he turned to Jebir's Treatise and made a bold decision. He raised his wand and surged raw magic into the crucible, pushing the furnace far beyond safe limits. The five dragon reliefs sculpted on the outer crucible snarled to life, their elemental flames writhing like serpents. Adrian barely flinched, even as sweat streamed down his face.
The dark green clump at the crucible's heart couldn't hold its form under the extreme heat. It bubbled, hissed, and finally melted, slowly transforming from sludge into a blood-hued liquid. A single glimmering pulse echoed from within—like a heartbeat.
Then, a glow.
A deep, internal shine flooded the crucible, and the blood-red liquid condensed into a crimson crystal, irregular and rough-edged, but unmistakably powerful. Thin threads of gold and silver shimmered across its surface like veins of magical ore.
Adrian exhaled sharply.
"It's done…" he whispered, almost disbelieving. His heart pounded. In the thrill of the process, he had forgotten entirely that he was in a sealed challenge designed by a thousand-year-old soul fragment. He had forgotten the test. Forgotten the pressure. Forgotten time.
The Philosopher's Stone, real and radiant, now rested in the furnace—his.
He extinguished the flames and leaned forward, admiring the stone, its translucent red body pulsing with the vitality of ancient magic. His reflection danced across its glowing surface.
"Dean, you said this was the final test," Adrian called out.
Rowena Ravenclaw appeared once more, her form emerging from the surrounding air like dew drawn from fog. For the first time since the beginning of the trial, her composed features seemed to soften—not in joy, but in profound release.
"Adrian Blackwood," she said solemnly. "You have succeeded in completing all of my tests. You are now worthy of receiving my legacy."
With a flick of her hand, a diadem appeared atop the obsidian desk. Adrian immediately recognized its design—it resembled the one he had used to unlock the statue's enchantment. But this version pulsed with magical intensity so refined that it practically shimmered.
"This crown is not the same as the one you used to access the trial," Rowena said, her eyes thoughtful. "That was a prototype—an early enchantment, more sentimental than functional. It lacked the true core of insight. Had it been truly effective, Helena would never have fallen prey to vanity and stolen it."
She gestured to the new diadem with reverence.
"This one I completed just before the end of my physical life. It grants clarity of thought, prevents the mind from being clouded, and shows you the true nature of your own desires, shielding you from illusion and deception. That… is what real wisdom is. And now—it is yours."
The crown shimmered again before settling into a still glow. Adrian stepped forward and accepted it with a bow.
Then Rowena summoned a familiar object—the tower model Adrian had used in the trial's game-like sequence.
"This, too, is yours," she said. "It is a Mobile Tower, crafted with magic similar to the Mansion Charm once theorized by a reclusive French wizard named Duncan de Moreau. It functions as a portable stronghold, protected by dimensional folding magic. Its actual location exists outside the known geography of the magical world."
Adrian's eyes widened. A sanctuary outside of time and space?
"It is a refuge," Rowena continued, "but also a library. Its shelves are stocked with every book I collected in life, and it continues to expand. For centuries, it has been linked to the Ravenclaw common room library—every time a student or professor adds a manuscript, a mirror copy is transported here."
She paused, growing more solemn.
"However, you are not ready to study its depths yet. Some of the texts contain dangerous, even disproven magical theories. Others are so advanced that you may misunderstand and harm yourself. In time, once your foundation is secure, these will help build your path to becoming a true Archmage. This library… is my most valuable treasure."
Adrian felt awe stir in his chest. It was like being offered not just power—but a legacy.
Still, unease prickled at the back of his mind. Like the challenges before, everything had felt perfectly arranged—curated—as if he had been nudged, guided toward success.
Was this by design?
It reminded him uncomfortably of how Dumbledore had arranged events for Harry Potter: subtle manipulation in the name of growth.
Rowena's eyes twinkled faintly.
She knew.
Her expression softened as she began to fade.
"You may also keep the Philosopher's Stone," she said. "It holds no use for me now. But for you, Adrian, it is priceless. You are young, and the elixir it may help produce can grant you the freedom of time—if you use it wisely."
Her image shimmered like morning mist dispersing in sunlight.
"As this soul fragment joins the rest of me," she said, voice fainter, "the trial ends. The statue will crumble. The space will vanish. But before I go—please…"
She paused, her voice taking on a wistful, maternal warmth.
"Take care of Helena. She is still lost. Her guilt keeps her from moving forward. That… is your responsibility now. As the bearer of my wisdom—you must be her guide."
Adrian bowed low—lower than ever before in his life.
He had inherited not just ancient magic, but a grief older than Hogwarts itself.
He didn't yet know how one cared for a ghost, but he would try. And with a Philosopher's Stone in hand—even if he was too young to use it properly—he had laid the foundation for a future free from the fear of age.
When he finally looked up, the light beneath his feet exploded in brilliance.
He staggered slightly, shielding his eyes as his stomach gave a familiar lurch—like being yanked by a Portkey. The world twisted.
When the light faded and the dizziness passed, Adrian opened his eyes.
He was standing in the Ravenclaw common room.
The blue fire in the hearth flickered gently. Not a single soul was in sight. Outside the enchanted windows, the Hogwarts grounds gleamed in soft sunlight. In the distance, the echoing cheers from the Quidditch stadium reached his ears.
He looked down at himself. No burn marks. No signs of fatigue.
And in his robes: a crown. A tower model. And a red crystal that pulsed with life.
Time, it seemed, had hardly passed.
But for Adrian Blackwood, everything had changed.