"Alright, a magical experiment… 'Operate the apparatus as per Mr. Nicolas Flamel's instructions,'" Anthony muttered under his breath. He pried open the chicken's beak and slipped the stone inside.
He released the chicken. It shook its wings, pecked angrily at his hand, and then dipped its head to fuss over its feathers.
Anthony waited. According to the experimental design, they were now to "observe and record the subject's reaction to the alchemical product."
If the chicken suddenly crowed, Anthony was to immediately cast Necromancy on the Wraith Chicken. If it lay down motionless, Dumbledore needed to drop a phoenix tear onto its comb. Then, theoretically, the Wraith Chicken should regurgitate the stone. They would need to sketch any patterns that appeared on it, record the color and time of appearance, and analyze the resulting design based on Ancient Runes, Alchemy, and Astronomy.
But the chicken just preened. It stared blankly at a sparrow on a branch outside the window for a while. Then it paced back and forth on the stone table, cocking its head to study Dumbledore's beard.
"And then, sir?" Anthony couldn't help but ask.
"I believe this is the result," Dumbledore said, watching as the bored Wraith Chicken hopped onto Anthony's knee and pecked at his buttons.
"What? 'Wraith Chicken, emotionally stable, appetite increased'?" Anthony asked, twirling his finger to tease his pet. The chicken snatched his finger, giving it a gentle nibble.
Dumbledore chuckled. "No, Henry. The stone has vanished."
"Well… that's to be expected, isn't it?" Anthony asked, confused. "It was eaten."
"Henry, this chicken is a wraith," Dumbledore reminded him. "As I recall you telling me, things consumed by wraiths have only two outcomes. They either vanish, integrating with the wraith, or they fall out, as ghosts typically experience."
Anthony stared at the Wraith Chicken's translucent body. He had to admit Dumbledore was right. He was so accustomed to his wraiths that he sometimes treated them like ordinary pets.
"So it really did eat it, but produced no reaction. That means…" Anthony said, slowly following the logic, "Mr. Flamel's alchemical product and the Wraith Chicken aren't mutually exclusive, correct? Mr. Flamel's hypothesis was right?"
"Nicolas's and our hypotheses were both correct. Though for him, it was a theoretical experiment. He certainly wouldn't have expected things to go this smoothly." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "And this proves time truly isn't a factor. I do wish Nicolas could know that."
"Mr. Flamel doesn't know we're trying his approach?" Anthony asked.
"Strictly speaking, he does not," Dumbledore said meaningfully. "Since creating the Philosopher's Stone, he has declared he engages only in theoretical academic study and does not involve himself in any concrete matters or alchemical experiments. Of course, brewing the Elixir of Life for himself and Perenelle doesn't count, as the Potioneers have long claimed Elixirs are their business and not alchemical experiments."
The expensive alchemical apparatus still stood quietly on the stone table, the golden balance swaying slightly. Sunlight slipped through a gap at the top of the curtains. The broken, slender rod, bitten off by the Wraith Chicken, reflected a dizzyingly beautiful light.
"Nicolas merely sent me the alchemical instrument model for academic discussion," Dumbledore continued, his tone light. "He kindly included all the operational steps and even added some notes on the hypothetical results one might obtain with a very specific, strangely specific, fantastical experimental subject: a Wraith Chicken."
"He is a very kind-hearted soul," Anthony commented.
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed with a sly light. "Indeed, Henry. He is."
…
To celebrate the experiment's preliminary success, Anthony rushed to buy a large bottle of cola before the supermarket closed. The Wraith Chicken stuck its head into the glass for an investigation. Anthony pushed it away. Annoyed, it flew off to the bedroom to look for the rats.
Anthony had a vague sense of rat discontent. He peeked in curiously and found the Wraith Chicken standing before the apples, seemingly contemplating whether it could hatch them.
He shrugged and turned back. Dumbledore was watching with keen interest as the tiny bubbles in the brown drink rose slowly.
"By the way, sir, have you heard of a house-elf named 'Dobby' belonging to anyone?"
Dumbledore looked up. "No, Henry. At least, that is not the name of any elf at Hogwarts. Why?"
"Mr. Potter said an elf by that name gave him a warning," Anthony relayed. "He seems to have heard Hogwarts is extremely dangerous and believes Mr. Potter absolutely must not return to school."
A smile actually appeared on Dumbledore's face. "Ah. So that is why Harry is staying with Arthur and Molly."
Anthony hadn't expected Dumbledore's conclusion to jump so far ahead. He paused. "Correct. Dobby warned Mr. Potter the school had become terribly dangerous, that returning to Hogwarts could be fatal." He glanced at Dumbledore and added, "He mentioned Dark Magic. Even believed it was Dark Magic capable of… escaping your notice."
"What do you think it is, Henry?" Dumbledore asked.
Anthony hesitated. "Sir… Mr. Lockhart isn't Voldemort, is he?"
Dumbledore gave a soft laugh, set down his glass, and asked with interest, "Do you think he is?"
"I don't know," Anthony admitted. After what happened last term, he no longer dared confidently proclaim he could tell who was Voldemort.
"I don't know either," Dumbledore said. "After all, as you said, it is Dark Magic capable of escaping my notice. But why Gilderoy, Henry?"
"A random guess. He is Professor Quirrell's successor," Anthony said. "If I were Voldemort (and I'm not, sir), I might try to stand up from where I fell. And I don't know why Mr. Lockhart suddenly decided to abandon the career he loved and excelled at to become a professor at Hogwarts."
"Most interesting," Dumbledore mused. "However, permit me to remind you of a few things, Henry. Firstly, I am aware Gilderoy has no house-elf at his home. Understandable, given his constant need to travel to various locales for adventures. Bringing an elf along would be… incongruous. It would lack a certain thrilling element, would it not?"
"True, sir. But Dobby could have merely heard it from someone else."
Dumbledore raised a hand, continuing. "Secondly, Gilderoy did not suddenly decide to abandon his career. We sent invitations to every individual we could think of with any notable achievement in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Gilderoy deliberated for a time and only agreed to teach at Hogwarts after we assured him no one would interfere with his choice of textbooks or teaching methods. Though I must add, I personally believe Harry also played a small role in his decision."
Anthony asked, surprised, "Potter?"
"I have an old friend," Dumbledore said with a smile. "He enjoys collecting students with talent and potential. Had I not been acutely aware his talents do not lie in Defence, I dare say presenting Harry to him would have made a refusal to Hogwarts' offer very difficult. You may find it hard to imagine, Henry, but the title 'Harry Potter's professor' is something many would find compelling."
"I don't think Potter much likes his fame," Anthony muttered.
"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "That is one of Harry's admirable qualities. One of many, if you'll permit me. I see many excellent traits in Harry."
"Including his remarkable composure? I'm impressed he isn't filled with resentment because of his guardians."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "His guardians?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, if I have their surname correct," Anthony said. "From what I gather, they despise magic and, forgive my phrasing, sir, border on abusing Potter. At least psychologically."
For the first time, Anthony saw Dumbledore look utterly serious. His sharp blue eyes fixed on Anthony. "Abuse?"
"Perhaps not physical beatings," Anthony clarified, his eyes on Dumbledore's expression. "But they never allowed that boy to be happy, sir. Second-hand clothes, cold potato crisps, the smallest room, the most chores."
"Many people wear second-hand clothes, Henry," Dumbledore said quietly.
"But the Dursleys don't do it because they can't afford better," Anthony said earnestly. "From Potter's descriptions, they are perfectly capable of providing better conditions. They have four game consoles in that house, buy new ones every year, but Potter isn't allowed to touch them."
Dumbledore said slowly, "Hagrid mentioned there was another boy in the Dursley household…"
"His cousin, I believe," Anthony said. "Hagrid described Potter's guardian family to me. I mistakenly failed to realize he wasn't exaggerating. If anything, he understated it. You likely know Hagrid kept going on about how he gave that unhealthily plump boy a pig's tail, when he originally intended to turn him into a pig outright."
Dumbledore fell silent. He brought his fingertips together, staring at the cola bubbles clinging to the inside of his glass. He suddenly looked weary.
"I'm not blaming you, sir," Anthony said quickly. "You're certainly not responsible for a student's family background. I'm just puzzled. Given how Potter and his guardians despise each other, why did no one in the magical world ever consider adopting Potter?"
"No, you did level an accusation against me just now, Henry, even if you were unaware of it," Dumbledore's voice was soft. "And I have little defense. The answer to your question is: because I did not permit anyone to adopt Harry."
Anthony was completely unprepared for this answer. He stared at Dumbledore, speechless. The golden reflection from the alchemical apparatus played across Dumbledore's face. In the shifting light, his crooked nose seemed even more pronounced.
"I dared not let Harry grow up in the magical world. At that time, it was filled with Voldemort's followers. Betrayal and death were daily occurrences," Dumbledore spoke calmly. "Even if we could have found a family that would not pledge allegiance to Voldemort, I still saw the danger in letting Harry grow up among wizards. One faction would treat him as a hero, flatter him, idolize him. None of it would have benefited his growth. Another would see him as a tool to grab fame, exposing Harry far too early to mad cameras and quills."
Anthony could easily think of counter-examples. "Arthur and Molly wouldn't."
"No, they would not. But others would," Dumbledore said. "People would chase after Harry. The best solution I could conceive was to let Harry grow up as far removed from the magical world as possible. And when Harry entered the school, I watched him and could not help but notice what a humble, clever, and likable child he had grown into."
"I don't know the magical world as well as you do, sir," Anthony couldn't help but say. "But the Dursleys certainly aren't the best choice among Muggles. They were chosen merely because they share his blood."
Dumbledore blinked. "Precisely. So they were the easiest choice to think of. And therefore the correct one, were they not?"
"The correct one?" Anthony asked. "Sir, I admit Potter has fine qualities. But I find it hard to attribute them to his relatives. If his relatives did anything potentially beneficial for Potter, it was making him infinitely fond of magic. But I wonder how many wizards have seen Potter at his guardians' home."
"I visited Harry, Henry," Dumbledore said quietly. "I visited the Dursleys."
Anthony stopped. Dumbledore seemed lost in memory, a slight frown on his brow, looking almost perplexed.
"Harry was mowing the lawn," he said. "He was mowing the lawn and singing. He looked a bit thin, but healthy. He looked… almost happy. The sun was good that day. I watched him and saw nothing wrong."
Anthony pointed out, "Potter says he almost never got new clothes. And in a middle-class Muggle household, a child that young shouldn't be sent out to mow the lawn."
(He suspected Dumbledore meant tending the garden.)
"Oh, Henry," Dumbledore said, his voice utterly calm. "I must beg your forgiveness. I used to help mow the lawn at home. My brother tended the sheep. I didn't know… I suppose I forgot. I thought it was normal. I thought that was what families were like, if you'll permit the phrasing. I knew it wasn't the best, but at the time… I may not have remembered."
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