Chapter 265: The Microclimate Bottle
Beneath the gaze of everyone in the hall, Leonardo gently placed the plain, unassuming crystal bottle on the long table before the judges' panel.
The bottle was perfectly transparent, with only the faintest wisp of cloud-like mist resting at its base.
Leonardo drew his wand and lightly tapped the tip against the bottle. A soft, focused beam of light settled over its mouth.
Across the crystal surface, intricate runes began to glow one after another from within, illuminating in a precise sequence, brightening and fading with the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.
The space inside the bottle gradually transformed.
A thin white mist first rose from the bottom, drifting upwards in slow curls to recreate the dampness of an early morning haze.
Then, at the heart of the mist, a warm golden radiance slowly spread, the temperature rising almost imperceptibly as the bottle took on the gentle warmth of sunlight.
As the runes continued their orderly cycle, the miniature world within the bottle shifted through ever more subtle transformations.
The professors on the judges' panel immediately leaned forward, examining the piece Leonardo had submitted ahead of time with the utmost care.
At the heart of a microclimate bottle lay the maker's precise control over the elements and the balance between them. Every climate it recreated depended on that delicate harmony.
Its assessment was correspondingly straightforward. By observing how many distinct climates the finished bottle could reproduce with stability, the judges could quickly gauge both its quality and the skill of its creator.
Madame Maxime gave a slight nod, unmistakable admiration shining in her eyes.
Professor Shafiq remained as relaxed as ever, seemingly unconcerned about the result. Her thoughts had probably already wandered to the question of how best to make use of those precious extra days of holiday once the competition was over.
Professor Rosier, meanwhile, watched with unwavering focus, his eyes following every subtle shift in the elemental balance within the bottle and every corresponding response of the runes. From time to time, he clicked his tongue in quiet amazement.
The more closely he examined it, the more convinced he became that the level of alchemical skill on display had long since surpassed what any student ought to be capable of.
The professors exchanged a few quiet remarks among themselves, but they did not announce Leonardo's score on the spot.
All scores would be withheld until the full five-hour time limit had elapsed, then announced together with the results for every competitor.
The purpose was simple: to avoid disrupting those still working and to keep the competition as fair as possible.
Even so, Leonardo finishing almost two hours ahead of schedule inevitably unsettled some of the other competitors.
Reiman and Fleur, who knew him better than anyone else there, took it in their stride. They had already seen for themselves the standard of Leonardo's alchemy.
Reiman merely glanced up before lowering his head again, returning his full attention to the bottle taking shape on his workbench. He had never expected to win the entire competition. All he needed to do was perform to the best of his own ability.
Fleur lingered on Leonardo for a brief moment. Then the corner of her mouth lifted into the faintest smile before she refocused, continuing to guide the thread of silver-crimson magic swirling within her own bottle.
For the other three competitors, however, the effect was far more pronounced.
One of the Durmstrang boys, seeing the professors begin their assessment, was visibly growing anxious.
Trying to make up for lost time, he poured magic into a half-finished component, but his control slipped for the briefest instant.
Crack.
The faint sound rang out with startling clarity in the quiet hall.
Fine fractures spread instantly across the surface of the component before him. The cold sealed within burst free at once, coating part of the workbench in a thin layer of frost.
At the judges' panel, the stern-faced Durmstrang professor in charge drew his brows together, his expression darkening.
Only when he saw the student recover from that brief moment of panic, take a steadying breath, decisively sweep away the ruined component with a flick of his wand, and immediately begin again with a fresh set of materials did the frown on his face ease slightly.
At least the damaged piece wasn't one of the most critical or time-consuming components. If he worked quickly enough, there was still a chance to recover.
The Durmstrang professor's gaze drifted once more to the microclimate bottle quietly cycling through its transformations on the judges' table, then to the untouched materials still waiting on his own student's workbench.
He couldn't help sighing inwardly.
The difference between the two was painfully obvious.
Barely three hours into the competition, Leonardo had already received a nod from Madame Maxime, found an empty seat among the Beauxbatons students, and settled into the audience.
In the space of a few moments, he'd gone from competitor to spectator.
The shift naturally drew no end of curious, searching, and admiring glances from the Beauxbatons students, their attention returning again and again to the young Hogwarts prodigy.