Hearing Flamel mention the "true history," Dawn fell silent for a moment before snorting in annoyance.
"Dumbledore really does tell you everything."
Flamel smiled faintly.
"That's because we're good friends."
"Yeah, yeah. Good friends who turned his castle into a complete disaster." Dawn rested his chin on one hand and laughed.
The alchemist, however, had clearly developed immunity to such remarks. He remained completely unfazed.
"Child," he continued, "no one knows when the Resurrection Stone will reappear."
"Are you confident you can complete the students' collective recognition before your consciousness returns to your body?"
Dawn frowned.
That was exactly the point he had been worrying about.
The thought-linking phenomenon had stopped for so long that he couldn't tell whether the Resurrection Stone had already begun reforming.
Time might be running out.
And at his current pace, he still needed at least two more thought-links before his consciousness could overwhelm Voldemort's influence.
"Then how exactly do you intend to help me, Mr. Flamel?" Dawn asked quietly.
"The consciousness inside the Brain in a Vat will assist you after Voldemort is removed.
And even if the Resurrection Stone appears early, I will do everything in my power to persuade Albus to let you use the Castle Consciousness."
To make himself sound more convincing, Flamel added:
"After all, searching for true history is hardly dangerous.
And your consciousness will naturally return to your body when the time comes. There is nothing else we would need to do."
It sounded good.
Only sounded good.
Dawn narrowed his eyes. He didn't trust Nicolas Flamel.
Everything the old alchemist offered was either a verbal promise or the most optimistic possible outcome.
There were no guarantees whatsoever.
After all, the consciousness inside the Brain in a Vat would merely be a copy of Nicolas Flamel, not Flamel himself.
Whether it would honor such promises remained uncertain.
And more importantly—
Once the Resurrection Stone returned and Flamel departed reality once more, would Dumbledore really allow him to continue using the Castle Consciousness unchecked?
Dawn glanced at Flamel.
Then he asked a more fundamental question.
"World Correction."
"Mr. Flamel, do you know anything about that phenomenon?"
"No." The alchemist met his gaze directly. "It is the first time I've ever heard that term—or encountered anything resembling it."
I see.
Dawn stroked his chin.
He couldn't detect any signs of deception. As he silently weighed the answer, several minutes passed.
Flamel finally spoke again. "Well, child? What do you think?"
Not much.
Dawn snorted inwardly.
Yet he neither challenged the uncertainty of Flamel's promises nor demanded some binding guarantee.
Nor did he reject the proposal outright.
Because compared to uncertain promises, Flamel possessed something else that interested him far more.
Something he wanted very badly.
"Not enough."
Dawn suddenly spoke.
"I don't necessarily need your help to use the Castle Consciousness. So if you want me to help you, you'll need to offer something more tangible."
"What would you like, then?"
Flamel showed no irritation whatsoever. His expression remained calm and agreeable.
Dawn licked his lips.
Carefully watching the alchemist's reaction, he shamelessly aimed for the moon.
"I want your entire inheritance."
"All of it."
Flamel's eyebrow twitched. Clearly, he hadn't expected that.
"My inheritance?"
"That's right." Dawn nodded firmly. "I want everything you've left behind."
For a moment, Flamel was genuinely speechless.
He rubbed his forehead.
"Child. Don't you think you're being a little greedy? I'm merely asking you to help bring back a few students.
And besides, everything I owned has already been left to Beauxbatons."
"Has it really?"
Dawn narrowed his eyes.
Flamel remained silent.
The two stared at each other for a long time. Finally, the alchemist sighed deeply.
"Oh, forget it."
"I suppose I've lost. Let's consider it finding a successor."
As though comforting himself, he continued:
"Go to the Cemetery of the Holy Innocents in Paris.
When I was young, I left a hidden chamber there. It contains quite a few valuable things.
The entrance is hidden somewhere among the tombstones."
Originally, he had created it as a treasure hunt born from his own sense of humor.
A reward for some lucky future discoverer. He never expected Dawn to become that person.
"The Cemetery of the Holy Innocents?"
Dawn looked skeptical.
"Are you serious? Wasn't that place demolished by the French government over two hundred years ago?"
"You're correct." Flamel nodded. "But don't worry. I placed Muggle-Repelling Charms there."
"And several other protections. It's definitely still intact."
"..."
Really?
Dawn looked unconvinced.
Still, he decided to verify it himself.
"If that's true, then I can help bring the students back."
For a moment, the thought of taking the payment and skipping the work crossed his mind.
But since this involved opposing Voldemort—and because he still hoped to obtain more things from Flamel later—he abandoned the idea.
Unaware of Dawn's darker thoughts, Flamel produced a piece of parchment.
With a wave of his wand, lines of text appeared across its surface.
Names.
Addresses.
A complete list.
"These are the students you need to retrieve." Handing it over, he added, "You should move quickly."
"So naggy."
Dawn took the parchment, glanced through it, folded it in half, and tucked it into the wide sleeve of his robes.
Before leaving, however, he asked one final question.
"Mr. Flamel. Are you really certain about this?
If a large number of students suddenly disappear and people eventually discover they're at Hogwarts...
You know exactly what kind of consequences that would bring."
This wasn't like kidnapping obscure wizards in Egypt for experiments.
The British Ministry of Magic might be incompetent, but it still functioned.
And with prophecy, divination, and countless other magical methods available, no plan could ever be perfectly hidden.
"When weighing two harms, choose the lesser." Flamel repeated the same phrase again.
Then, mimicking Dumbledore's mannerisms, he blinked.
"Don't worry."
"If we're discovered, I'll personally explain everything. And I'll provide compensation."
He had already made up his mind.
Naturally, he wouldn't clear things up while wearing Dumbledore's face. He would use his own identity.
A centuries-old alchemist possessed both enough wealth and enough reputation to resolve the fallout.
Fortunately, very few people knew that Nicolas Flamel had actually died.
Dawn's eyes flickered. His fingers rubbed the smooth parchment hidden inside his sleeve.
Suddenly, suspicion surfaced. "Then why don't you go yourself?"
"Because I truly have too many things to do."
Flamel tapped the glass jar again.
Dawn nodded thoughtfully. He appeared to accept the explanation and asked no further questions.
Silence settled over the office.
Click.
The hour hand on the clock shifted forward.
Flamel looked at Dawn, who was still sitting there. "Child. What are you waiting for? You should be leaving."
"Oh."
Dawn rested his chin on one hand.
"I wanted to see how you're actually planning to put that brain into someone's consciousness."
His eyes gleamed with curiosity.
Flamel pinched the bridge of his nose. Helplessly, he waved his hand.
A cauldron drifted out from a nearby cabinet.
"There's really nothing interesting about it."
He lit a fire beneath it.
"I'm simply planning to use a special potion called the Compatibility Draught."
"The Compatibility Draught?"
Dawn frowned.
After thinking carefully, he confirmed that he had never heard of it.
"You wouldn't find it in most books. Strictly speaking, it's a failed potion."
With another wave of his hand, various potion ingredients floated from the cabinet and landed beside the round table.
As he worked, Flamel explained:
"It was originally developed as one of the wizarding world's attempts to solve magical creature transfiguration.
The creator believed that applying the potion to a magical creature would transform it into a gelatin-like substance.
After consuming it, a wizard would supposedly gain the creature's abilities.
But in practice, the results were disappointing. Eating the transformed substance only granted fragments of the creature.
A few scales. A few feathers.
Perhaps some greatly weakened version of its abilities."
He crushed an eyeball-shaped ingredient and poured it into the cauldron.
"And worse still, the wizard's consciousness would gradually be suppressed and replaced by the magical creature.
However... It's quite compatible with the Brain in a Vat."
Watching the alchemist's smooth and practiced movements, Dawn suddenly asked, "And what happens to the consciousness you insert afterward?"
"That's not a problem."
Flamel poured water into the mixture.
"A Brain in a Vat cannot survive outside its solution. Even after being consumed, the consciousness within will naturally dissipate over time."
I see.
Dawn nodded.
Then he casually asked, "How long does this potion take to brew?"
"About five hours." Flamel replied just as casually while stirring the mixture with the Elder Wand.
Five hours.
Dawn clicked his tongue.
He had no intention of sitting around that long. After glancing at the flames licking the underside of the cauldron, he stood up.
"Forget it. I'll go handle my own business."
"Wait."
Flamel tossed him a white mask.
"Wear this. It's an enchanted item that can block various forms of detection. Try not to reveal Fred's face."
"Hmph."
"If you're worried about implicating innocent people, maybe you shouldn't have asked me to do this."
Dawn shrugged.
Putting on the mask, he waved casually and left.
The office immediately became quiet.
His footsteps faded down the corridor.
Between the sounds of rain striking the windows, Flamel heard the distant creaking of moving staircases.
Whew...
At last.
Nicolas Flamel let out a long breath.
At last, he had managed to send Dawn away.
His reasons for assigning Dawn the task weren't entirely as stated.
Partly, yes—the other professors weren't reliable enough if Voldemort appeared. And Flamel genuinely had far too many responsibilities.
But there was another reason.
A hidden motive.
Thinking about what he was about to do, Flamel silently apologized to Dawn.
Standing by the window, he watched the masked figure disappear into the rain outside the castle.
Then, with a wave of his hand, he extinguished the brewing potion.
That's right. He had lied.
Again.
The Compatibility Draught was never part of his actual plan.
It was merely an excuse to get Dawn out of the room before he could witness Flamel's true method.
Now alone in the office, the alchemist sank into a chair.
For a long time, he stared at the brain that still writhed and consumed memories.
Then he rose.
After several hesitant steps, he finally made up his mind.
"Fawkes."
Whoosh.
Firelight gathered upon his shoulder, forming brilliant crimson feathers.
Flamel whispered a location.
A flash of light erupted. Then both wizard and phoenix vanished with a sharp crack.
Outside, the storm raged.
The night remained dark and obscure.
No one knew where he had gone.
Half an hour later, however, another burst of phoenix fire returned him to the office.
His hands were covered in dirt.
His robes were slightly torn.
And in his grasp rested a dark gray metallic object of irregular shape.
°Aguamenti°
A stream of water appeared, washing the soil from his hands. His eyes remained fixed on the object.
Only when another flash of lightning illuminated the room did he stir.
He touched it with the Elder Wand and muttered an indistinct incantation.
Click.
A faint sound emerged.
A narrow seam opened across the object's surface.
Complex runic patterns glowed briefly before fading once more.
Had Dawn been present, he would have seen countless magical circuits woven through its interior.
Runes covered every node.
This was unmistakably the creation of a master alchemist. And one crafted with tremendous effort.
Flamel inhaled deeply.
At this point, there was no room left for hesitation. He opened the object like a box.
Inside lay a small cavity.
Within it rested several drops of silver-white liquid.
The instant the liquid touched open air, it began to evaporate. Threads of silver mist vanished little by little.
The conversion of matter into magic...
Flamel's eyes trembled.
Life truly was unpredictable.
He had never imagined that after dying and somehow returning to reality, a secret he intended to carry into the grave would be mentioned repeatedly.
Nor had he imagined he would one day use the final remnants of that experiment here.
He sighed softly.
But his hands never slowed.
Opening the Brain in a Vat's container, he poured the diminishing silver liquid into it.
Boom!
Thunder exploded overhead.
Blinding lightning turned the entire room pale white.
Inside the jar, the brain—which had already absorbed every last strand of memory—suddenly shuddered.
Then it began to fade.
Like rich paint diluted by clear water.
And as that happened— Something about the rain-shrouded castle seemed to change.
Something subtle. Something impossible to describe.
Boom!
Another thunderclap shook the night.
Rain hammered down relentlessly.
....
Meanwhile, after leaving Hogwarts, Dawn did not immediately visit any students' homes.
Instead, he Apparated directly to the Vatican.
He wanted to check on the place where he had hidden his treasures.
The result was exactly what he expected. Even knowing the precise location, he couldn't find the secret room.
It seemed the Fidelius Charm recognized the body—or perhaps the soul—but not consciousness itself.
Dawn shook his head.
He had expected as much and wasn't particularly disappointed.
°Apparate°
In the darkness, he cast the spell once more and vanished.
Still, he wasn't heading toward the students. This time, his destination was Paris.
After all, before doing any work, it was only reasonable to verify whether the payment was real.
___________
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