CHAPTER 157: ENT-DRAUGHT

Sylas watched with anticipation as Treebeard set the great stone bowls of Ent-draught upon the towering table before him. The tabletop loomed at his own height, but when Treebeard offered to lift him up, Sylas shook his head with a grin. Instead, he drew his wand and, with a flick, conjured three tall chairs so that he, Gandalf, and Arwen could sit comfortably and reach the table.

The old Ent waded to a great stone basin where a cool stream flowed in, submerging his massive feet as though drinking in the water through his roots. Then he raised his own enormous bowl and took a long, slow draught, the motion like a tree bending to drink sunlight and rain.

Settling into his conjured chair, Sylas leaned against the table’s edge and took up his own great bowl. Lifting it with both hands, he tasted the Ent-draught for the first time. It was cool as spring water, with a faint, elusive fragrance, like the scent of leaves stirred by an evening breeze deep in the forest.

The flavour itself was simple, almost plain, but Sylas was far more interested in what happened next. The drink carried a living magic that began at his toes and steadily rose through his body, filling his limbs, chest, and even his scalp with a tingling vitality. His hair seemed to bristle faintly. Beneath that surge of energy, his inner organs felt stronger, his bones denser, his muscles tauter. Even the well of magic within him swelled, as if fed by the draught.

This wasn’t just a drink, it was a miracle potion. A true panacea for strengthening every fibre of one’s being. Sylas’s eyes widened in delighted disbelief.

Without hesitation, he gulped down the rest, though the large portion left him feeling pleasantly full. The draught’s magic continued to work, strengthening him from within until a warm drowsiness began to tug at his eyelids.

Arwen, seated nearby, noticed. "Sylas, are you unwell?" she asked softly.

"I’m fine," he replied, rubbing his eyes with a small smile. "The drink’s just a bit... potent. It’s making me sleepy."

But as he glanced at her, and at Gandalf, who was sipping his portion slowly, as if it were fine wine, Sylas realised the effects were not the same for everyone. Arwen’s grace and Gandalf’s power seemed unchanged; the draught’s magic barely stirred them. For someone like him, a mage whose strength lay more in mind than muscle, the Ent-draught had poured its full potency into him.

Gandalf looked over with a knowing smile. "Rest, Sylas," he said, his voice gentle. "The forest’s gifts are best embraced with patience."

"You will be fine when you wake up."

Treebeard generously gave up his bed so that he could have a sleep.

Sylas thanked Treebeard, and as he was constantly overwhelmed by sleepiness, he did not even bother to use the Transfiguration Spell to make his bed more comfortable. He fell directly onto the haystack, and sleepiness instantly engulfed his consciousness. He fell into a deep sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, Sylas finally woke from his slumber.

Although Treebeard’s bed was simple and primitive, it was not dirty. The hay and bark under him carried the fragrance of grass and trees, as if he were resting deep in the forest.

"You’re awake!" Arwen, who had been guarding the bed, noticed him immediately. She stepped forward and asked with concern, "How do you feel now?"

"I feel... great!" After waking up, Sylas felt refreshed, as if he had endless energy.

"By the way, how long have I been asleep? What time is it now?"

"It’s the second day now, and you’ve already slept for twelve hours," Arwen replied with a smile.

"So long!" Sylas was surprised.

Then he looked around but saw that Gandalf and Treebeard were nowhere in sight.

"Where are Gandalf and Treebeard?"

"They’re both outside, waiting for you to wake up."

Upon hearing this, Sylas immediately climbed down from the stone bed.

However, as soon as he got out of bed, he noticed changes in his body.

He seemed to have grown taller.

Not only that, his body had become stronger and more powerful, with the muscles in his arms tighter and more defined.

Even the magic power in his body had increased significantly.

It was equivalent to the results of a full year of meditation.

Sylas’s face lit up with joy.

Although he had been mentally prepared, he still could not help but feel thrilled when faced with such a result.

At that moment, he also noticed the sign-in system had prompted him at some point, but he had been asleep and had not responded.

[Hogwarts Sign-in System: Locating Fangorn Forest, do you want to sign in?]

"Sign in!" Sylas answered instantly.

[Sign in successful. Congratulations on obtaining Severus Snape’s Potions Notes!]

Looking at the thick notes in front of him, Sylas was filled with curiosity.

Could it be the Half-Blood Prince’s notebook that Harry Potter once picked up?

But after a closer look, Sylas realized it was not entirely the same.

This notebook appeared to contain all of Severus Snape’s Potions research notes, spanning from the time he first entered Hogwarts to the very end of his life.

In addition to advanced knowledge of potion-making, the notebook also contained several of Snape’s own inventions, created during his years as the self-styled "Half-Blood Prince." Among them were:

Muffliato – A charm that fills nearby ears with a constant buzzing, preventing eavesdropping.

Langlock – A jinx that glues the target’s tongue to the roof of their mouth.

Levicorpus – A non-verbal jinx that dangles the victim upside-down by their ankle.

Liberacorpus – The counter-curse to Levicorpus, releasing the target.

Sectumsempra – A dark curse that causes deep, gashing wounds as though slashed by a blade.

Vulnera Sanentur – A healing incantation designed to mend the injuries caused by Sectumsempra.

Sylas was astonished. These were the personal research notes of the Potions Master himself.

It not only recorded Snape’s improvements to countless potions, streamlining brewing steps, substituting rarer ingredients with more effective ones, but also contained sharp insights into potion theory and deep analyses of magical plants and minerals.

With this, even a wizard of modest talent could hold their own in the world of potion-making.

Sylas valued the notebook as a priceless treasure.

With the research of Severus Snape, the Half-Blood Prince, combined with the herbological mastery of Professor Sprout, he could easily identify equivalent ingredients in Middle-earth to recreate magical potions from his own world.

There were Intelligence Potions to sharpen the mind, Felix Felicis to bend fortune in one’s favor, and even the fabled Elixir of Life.

Although Sylas had once dreamed of achieving phoenix immortality through Animagus transformation, he had not abandoned his pursuit of the Philosopher’s Stone.

The Stone itself did not directly bestow eternal life, it was the essential catalyst for brewing the Elixir of Life, taken regularly to extend one’s years.

But there was a flaw: the Elixir could halt death, yet it could not halt the slow decay of flesh. Even Nicolas Flamel and his wife, though living over six centuries, were frail, their bones so brittle they feared even a handshake might shatter them.

This was why Flamel had finally surrendered the Stone and embraced death.

Sylas, however, believed the weakness could be overcome. Potions existed that could restore vitality, and others that could reverse the body’s age. With the skill of a true master like Snape, one might brew a draught that preserved youth itself.

Stone and youth potion together, immortality in all but name.

Good fortune, indeed, enhanced strength from Fangorn’s draught, and now the Half-Blood Prince’s legacy in his hands.

Arwen, unaware of the sign-in system, noticed Sylas’s grin. "Growing taller makes you so happy?" she asked, puzzled.

Sylas came back to himself and flashed her a broad, triumphant smile.

"Growing taller is certainly something to be happy about, isn’t it? I’ve grown a full five inches, thirteen centimetres, and now I’m a whole head taller than you!"

Sylas’s original height had been 1.85 metres, tall enough among ordinary Men. Yet beside the Elves, he had always seemed a touch shorter than he would have liked. Most Elves stood between 1.8 and 2 metres; Lady Galadriel herself was a towering 1.93 metres. Arwen, though not as tall as her grandmother, still stood an elegant 1.80 metres.

When Sylas had been only five centimetres taller than her, he had often felt subtly diminished. But now, at 1.98 metres, he stood with the easy confidence of a man who could meet her gaze from above.

As with many young men, height was no small matter, and his pride was plain to see. Arwen watched his boyish gesture of comparing their heights, her grey eyes alight with amusement, a soft smile curving her lips.

"Well then, grown-up Professor Sylas," she teased gently, "we should go outside. Treebeard and Gandalf are waiting for us."

Together they left the cool, echoing halls of the Springs of the Ents and stepped onto the sunlit clearing beyond. There, beneath a living dome of interwoven boughs, Gandalf sat upon a mossy stone, pipe in hand, his thoughts drifting with the curling smoke. Beside him, Treebeard reclined with his great legs stretched into the stream, half-dozing or perhaps wandering through memories as old as the First Age.

Sylas and Arwen slowed instinctively, their steps quieting out of respect. Yet the two elder figures turned toward them all the same.

Gandalf’s keen eyes swept over Sylas, and a wry smile tugged at his lips. "It seems you have grown a good deal taller."

"I’ve grown five inches!" Sylas admitted cheerfully, making no effort to hide his delight. Then, turning to Treebeard, he inclined his head in gratitude. "Master Treebeard, thank you for your Ent-draught. I have gained greatly from it."

From his satchel, Sylas produced a small stoppered vial. "This is a plant-growth potion of my own making. It can quicken the growth of trees. Please, accept it as a gift."

Treebeard’s massive fingers curled gently around the glass. At once he seemed to sense the draught’s potency. Uncorking it, he let a single drop fall upon the roots of a nearby sapling. Before their eyes, the young tree surged upward, its trunk thickening, its branches unfurling new leaves until it stood as a fine young oak.

The old Ent’s eyes brightened. Carefully tucking the bottle away, he rumbled, "Hmm, hm! I like your gift, young wizard."

Then his mossy brows lifted with curiosity. "Do you have more of this potion? I could trade you some of my Ent-draught in exchange."

Sylas’s heart leapt. He had already tasted the Ents’ drink, its deep, life-brimming strength had left him refreshed and stronger in both body and spirit. It was no small thing to be offered more.

He did not hesitate. From within his robes, he withdrew the last bottle he carried and placed it into Treebeard’s waiting hand. In return, the Ent brought forth a great clay flagon of his draught, three times the measure Sylas had drunk before.

"And if you brew more in days to come," Treebeard added, "bring it to me. I will see you rewarded."

The offer was generous, though the Ent-draught was not without limits, its making was slow, its yield small. So it is impossible for Sylas to trade without restrictions.

...

Stones Plzz

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