The Room of Requirement had been transformed into an exceptionally sophisticated private potion laboratory.
Reyes had spent an entire month modifying it.
Every detail had been carefully refined to resemble a modern chemistry lab. The arrangement of equipment, the ambient temperature, and even the lighting had been meticulously calibrated. The illumination, in particular, had been adjusted to prevent any distortion in potion color caused by environmental light—an often overlooked factor that could lead to subtle but critical misjudgments during brewing.
What satisfied Reyes the most, however, was the row of storage cabinets lining the wall.
At the beginning of the month, he had set a very specific requirement for the room: it should collect any usable magical materials scattered throughout Hogwarts—forgotten remnants, unprocessed ingredients, or leftovers from failed experiments.
The Room of Requirement had exceeded expectations.
True to its reputation as a masterpiece, it had faithfully carried out his request. Over the past few weeks, the cabinets had gradually filled with a surprising variety of residual magical materials. Some were rare, others obscure, and many were imperfect—but all were valuable for experimentation.
Reyes now stood before a quietly bubbling cauldron.
Penelope's earlier guess had been entirely accurate. Since the previous week, Reyes had begun systematic research into improving the Elixir of Euphoria. Rather than relying on conventional supplies, he deliberately used the materials gathered by the Room of Requirement.
This was not reckless improvisation.
Several potion textbooks lay open nearby, their pages marked and annotated. Beside them sat stacks of parchment covered in dense Arithmancy calculations and Divination notes. Every experiment he conducted followed a structured methodology.
For every three standard brews, he attempted one modified version.
Before introducing any new ingredient, he analyzed it through a pharmacological lens—examining potential interactions, toxicity, and compatibility. He then verified theoretical outcomes using Arithmancy formulas. Finally, he applied Divination to cross-check probabilities and confirm whether the adjustment was viable.
It was a rigorous, multi-layered process.
Through Divination, he had even uncovered a modification once developed by Snape during his student years: adding a single sprig of peppermint could suppress more than half of the Elixir of Euphoria's side effects.
At first glance, the result seemed promising.
But further analysis revealed complications.
While peppermint reduced side effects, it introduced instability into the potion's overall structure. The final product became inconsistent, with fluctuating potency and unpredictable results. This implied that Snape's original method must have involved deeper, more fundamental changes to the brewing process—alterations that Reyes had not yet mastered.
"In that case, peppermint will serve as a baseline," Reyes muttered to himself.
He jotted down notes in his notebook.
"I'll integrate it into a broader formula and compensate with additional stabilizing agents. After that… I'll rely on the Juicer's feedback."
The so-called "Juicer" was his intuitive sense for potion crafting—a blend of experience, instinct, and system-assisted perception. It wasn't infallible, but it often guided him toward promising directions.
With that decision made, Reyes resolved to push his limits during the final week.
Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, he completed three standard brews of the Elixir of Euphoria. Each one was executed with precision, serving as a control for his experiments.
Once finished, he reviewed the list he had compiled earlier in the day.
Then he began the modified brew.
Time passed quietly, marked only by the faint bubbling of the cauldron and the occasional scratch of his quill. When the process was complete, Reyes carefully evaluated the result.
The side effects had been reduced by approximately half.
It wasn't a groundbreaking improvement, but it was solid—reliable, even. Among students participating in similar trials, such a result would rank comfortably above average.
Reyes leaned back slightly, considering the outcome.
"If nothing better emerges this week," he thought, "this will be sufficient to present to Snape."
He glanced at the clock.
It was already a little past ten in the evening.
Under normal circumstances, he would have returned to his dormitory by now. But tonight was different.
Reyes had no intention of leaving the Room of Requirement.
With a simple thought, he could expand the space and create an adjoining common room for rest. The room would adapt seamlessly, providing everything he needed.
More importantly, tonight marked the final day of November.
If his calculations were correct, the system's quarterly settlement would occur at midnight.
Tomorrow was a weekend, so there was no urgency to leave. He decided to remain here, wait for the reset, and examine his rewards before getting some sleep.
For the remaining time, Reyes returned to his workbench and continued studying potion formulas. He cross-referenced ingredients, reviewed previous notes, and refined theoretical models.
Then, without warning, a system notification appeared in his mind.
[Ravenclaw Vision quarterly settlement begins. Raven collection progress: 77/75 (Excellent)]
Reyes's eyes sharpened.
He had exceeded the requirement.
[You may choose one of the following rewards]
Three options materialized before him, each displayed like a card.
[Mad Scientist: Accelerates your thinking while granting different buffs based on your size (Current buffs: 24% Movement Speed, 42 Ability Haste, 12% Adaptability, 8% Max Life Points)]
[Trickster Magic: Greatly improves your talent in Transfiguration; Animagus form has a chance to transform into a Yordle form (probability increases with Transfiguration level, currently 1%)]
[Stats on Stats on Stats: Provides you with four random attribute forgers (repeatable)]
Reyes studied the options carefully.
A flicker of regret passed through his mind.
He had hoped to obtain the curse-type talent, Fearbringer, but it hadn't appeared.
His gaze shifted to the third option.
If this were a purely physical development path—like in a game—he wouldn't hesitate. Raw attributes could compound over time, offering consistent growth.
But reality was more nuanced.
"Silver-grade attribute forgers are inefficient," he thought. "Unless they're gold-tier or higher, the return isn't worth the investment."
He dismissed the option.
That left two.
Mad Scientist and Trickster Magic.
Reyes narrowed his eyes slightly.
The first enhanced cognitive speed and granted adaptive buffs based on physical size. While the exact mechanics of "thinking acceleration" were unclear, the stat bonuses followed a familiar pattern: smaller size yielded greater speed and ability haste, while larger size increased durability and adaptability.
In theory, this flexibility was powerful.
Through potions or magic, he could manipulate his size and selectively optimize his stats depending on the situation.
The second option was more exotic.
It significantly improved his Transfiguration talent and introduced the possibility of a Yordle form through Animagus transformation.
Reyes paused.
Yordles were not ordinary beings.
They were creatures of spiritual energy—entities that rarely experienced true death. They adapted to their environment, reshaping themselves over time. More importantly, they possessed an innate affinity for magic.
If the transformation were achievable, the implications were immense.
"In that form," Reyes thought, "conventional physical harm would become nearly irrelevant. Only specialized sealing techniques would pose a threat."
It was an extraordinary prospect.
But there was a problem.
The probability was only 1%.
And it depended heavily on his Transfiguration level.
At present, his Transfiguration ability was roughly equivalent to that of a third- or fourth-year student. According to the system's evaluation, that barely registered.
Reyes frowned slightly.
"To make this viable," he reasoned, "I'd likely need to reach the absolute peak of Transfiguration."
Even that might not be enough.
The current consensus in the wizarding world was clear: Animagus transformations could not produce magical creatures. If Reyes wanted to defy that limitation and transform into something as complex as a Yordle, he would need to not only master Transfiguration but also innovate beyond its established boundaries.
In other words, he would have to become unparalleled in the field.
The difficulty was immense.
After a brief inquiry, he confirmed there were no reroll options available.
The decision had to be made now.
Reyes exhaled slowly.
Then he reached out and selected the first option.
Mad Scientist.
The prismatic rune shimmered, then burst into fragments of light. The pieces surged toward him, dissolving into his body.
In an instant, a profound change occurred.
The lingering fatigue in his mind vanished.
His thoughts became sharper—clearer, faster, more precise. Ideas that had once felt distant now aligned effortlessly, forming coherent patterns. Complex calculations unfolded almost instinctively, and connections between concepts emerged with startling clarity.
Reyes blinked once.
Then, a faint smile appeared on his face.
"This…" he murmured, "changes everything."
The night was far from over.
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