After confirming that the Shrinking Potion worked flawlessly, Sylas returned indoors, satisfied, and carefully bottled a full vial of the vivid green liquid.
The Shrinking Potion was more than a novelty, it had practical uses in both combat and escape. It could render large beasts harmless by reducing them to pocket-sized critters, or allow a wizard to shrink themselves and hide where no enemy could follow.
Encouraged by the success, Sylas pressed on in the days that followed, attempting other basic potions. His efforts bore fruit: he brewed a Forgetfulness Potion, a mild Soothing Draught, and a Sleeping Potion, all to textbook standard.
He also turned his attention to his Dittany plants, which had finally matured. Using the two healthiest specimens, he distilled them into a batch of Dittany Elixir.
However, the two pots containing Mandrake, planted in hopes of nurturing them into full-grown Mandrakes, remained stubbornly unchanging. Sylas infused them daily with magic, which the roots eagerly absorbed, yet the plants gave no outward sign of transformation.
Though he harbored doubts, he wasn't the sort to abandon a magical experiment halfway. He continued the daily watering ritual, determined to see what the strange, ancient plants would eventually become.
Time passed. Winter melted into early spring in the Shire, and almost a full year had gone by since Sylas first crossed into Middle-earth.
One morning, as he was studying a thick, leather-bound copy of Curses and Counter-Curses, a light rapping sounded at his door. Bilbo stood on the threshold, visibly uneasy.
Sylas glanced up from his book, blinking. "Bilbo? Something wrong?"
Bilbo hesitated, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Sylas… I think Bag End is haunted."
"Haunted?" Sylas raised an eyebrow, wondering if his friend was joking.
But Bilbo looked perfectly serious. "I know how it sounds," he said, lowering his voice, "but I've been working in the garden these last few days, and I keep hearing… crying. Like a baby's wail. Soft, but strange, and coming from the yard."
Sylas paused, thoughtful. A baby's cry? A memory clicked into place. He rose abruptly, closing his book, and strode past Bilbo out into the garden.
Bilbo followed, full of curiosity and no small amount of dread.
Sylas made his way straight to the two pots of Mandrake. Up until now, he hadn't given them more than a glance, nothing but extra foliage, or so it seemed. But crouching beside them, he drew his wand and gently parted the soil.
What he uncovered made his eyes widen in delight.
The roots beneath the nightshade plants had grown thick and gnarled, and now bore a humanoid shape, like the form of a grotesque baby, complete with limbs, fingers, and even a rudimentary face.
Mandrakes possess extraordinary medicinal value. They are powerful restoratives, capable of reversing transformations and lifting curses, and serve as vital ingredients in many high-level potions. Even in the wizarding world, they are considered rare and precious, requiring precise magical conditions and careful nurturing to grow.
Sylas had nearly given up hope. Despite his daily efforts, the plant had shown no sign of magical evolution. But now, against all odds, the transformation had occurred, right under his nose.
His joy, however, was short-lived.
As soon as he pulled the Mandrake from the soil, it began to thrash wildly. Its stubby limbs flailed, its face contorted in fury, and then—
It screamed.
The sound was shrill and piercing, like a dagger to the brain. Sylas staggered, clutching his head as a searing pain exploded through his skull. The garden spun around him. His knees buckled, and his vision blurred.
'Oh no. I forgot… the Mandrake's cry!'
He gritted his teeth, barely holding on. With the last of his focus, he raised his wand and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"
The Mandrake instantly froze, its mouth still open in a silent scream.
"Whew..." Sylas exhaled, wiping the sweat from his brow—only to hear a thump behind him.
He turned.
Bilbo lay flat on his back in the garden path, eyes rolled up, completely unconscious.
Sylas groaned. "Oh, Bilbo…"
He quickly reburied the Mandrake in its pot, covering it with soil to muffle any lingering magic. Then he rushed to Bilbo's side, checked his pulse, thankfully steady, and carried him back inside.
Mandrake cries are notoriously dangerous, but this one was still in its infancy. A fully mature Mandrake's cry could kill outright. This one only caused unconsciousness, and a nasty headache.
Two hours later, Bilbo began to stir. He blinked at the ceiling, then sat up slowly, wincing. "Ow... what hit me?"
"Here. Drink this," said Sylas, offering him a steaming cup of Soothing Draught.
Bilbo took it without protest—he'd long since learned that Sylas's potions, while oddly flavored, worked wonders.
"Ugh!" Bilbo grimaced. "It tastes like burnt cabbage and old boots…"
"But you're feeling better, aren't you?" Sylas asked with a sheepish smile.
Bilbo blinked again and rubbed his temple. "Yes, actually… much better. But what in the Shire was that thing? The root looked like a person! And the scream, it knocked me flat!"
Sylas looked genuinely apologetic. "That was a Mandrake. A magical plant. I've been trying to cultivate one from nightshade for months. I didn't expect it had already transformed. I think the crying you heard over the last few days, it was from the Mandrake, not ghosts."
"I'm sorry I didn't warn you. I should've been more careful."
But Bilbo, ever the good-hearted Hobbit, simply waved him off. "No need to fuss. I've had worse from Sackville-Baggins dinner parties."
However, Bilbo still looked uneasy. The memory of the Mandrake's scream lingered like a ghost in his mind.
"Sylas," he asked cautiously, "will the Mandrake cry like that again?"
Sylas shook his head and offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. Mandrakes prefer to stay buried in the soil while they're young. They won't make a sound unless they're pulled out, and even then, only if they're disturbed. As long as they're left alone, they're quiet sleepers."
He paused thoughtfully. "The crying you heard these past few days was probably a sign they needed to be repotted. According to Magical Herbology, Mandrakes must be transplanted into fresh soil at key stages of growth. I've been watering them with magic regularly, but I must have forgotten to replace their soil."
Repotting was essential. Now that the Mandrakes had fully transformed, they needed rich, nourishing earth to continue growing properly.
In the wizarding world, expert Herbologists typically used dragon dung compost to feed Mandrakes, nutrient-rich and magically potent.
But this was Middle-earth. While there was a dragon holed up in the Lonely Mountain, Sylas wasn't about to pay Smaug a visit just for compost.
Instead, he made do with the next best thing, ordinary animal manure. The process was… unpleasant.
Grimacing, Sylas cast Petrificus Totalus on each Mandrake to keep them still, then carefully lifted them from their pots, replaced the soil with a blend of compost he'd prepared himself, and replanted them.
By the time he was done, the stench clung to him like a second cloak.
And worse, he knew this wouldn't be the last time.
Still, there was comfort in the thought that once the Mandrakes matured, they would become invaluable. Not only could he brew powerful restorative potions, but he'd finally have the means to craft the enchanted voodoo dolls.
So, despite the stink and effort, he endured.
Days passed, and the Mandrakes quietly nestled into their new homes, undisturbed and growing steadily.
Then, one fine spring morning, just as the scent of freshly turned earth and blooming flowers filled the air in Hobbiton…
Another Wizard arrived in the Shire..
...
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