Hogwarts: Starting with full Unforgivable Curses

Chapter 186 Old Deng's Tests, Tests, and Tests...

In fact, Dylan could have gone back to the office with Old Deng during the meal.

However, by the time Old Deng got up to leave, Dylan was still not full.

Therefore, he didn't drag Old Deng along.

Go through the corridor.

On either side, the visors of some armored warriors turned slightly with the sound of his footsteps.

The silver candlesticks on the stone wall shone brighter, their flames casting flickering shadows on the damp wall, illuminating Dylan's figure as well.

We arrived at the door of Old Deng's office.

The password hasn't changed.

He went in without any problems.

The moment I pushed open the office door.

A scent of parchment and laurel leaves wafted towards us.

Old Deng was hunched over his wooden desk, flipping through a book.

The quill pen was still scratching across a piece of parchment.

"Principal," Dylan said politely from the doorway.

"Dylan?" Dumbledore paused in his actions, looked up, and upon seeing Dylan, smiled and tapped the gilded sugar jar beside him with his finger.

Would you like a sizzling honey candy?

Dylan smiled and shook his head: "No need, Principal, I brought back a lot of candy from the cafeteria."

Dumbledore chuckled: “Very clever, but it is indeed prepared for you. Take as much as you want—but don’t waste it, or those guys on the Board of Governors will feel sorry for their Galleons again.”

Dylan grinned. "But I don't think you, Principal, would feel bad about it, would you?"

"How can you say that? Waste is not a good thing."

Old Deng pretended to put on a stern face, but his eyes were smiling, and he even winked at Dylan.

"What brings you here so late? It's rare to see you in my office. Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Dylan blinked too.

"Principal, I've come to ask you two questions."

"tell me the story?"

Dylan first walked to Old Deng's desk, then pulled up a chair and sat down.

—There wasn’t actually an extra chair; the chair was created by Dylan using a book.

at this time.

The gears of the bronze unicorn clock beside it were making a soft clicking sound.

Phoenix Fox spreads its tail feathers on its territory.

Dylan glanced at the Pensieve on the ground, his gaze settling on Old Deng.

"Firstly, I've recently been studying alchemy and would like to ask you for advice on alchemy from time to time. I wonder if you would be willing to teach me?"

The flickering candlelight in the office stretched the old man's shadow long, casting crisscrossing patterns among the portraits covering the walls.

Dumbledore looked at Dylan: "How did you know I know alchemy?"

Dylan smiled. "You repaired the crack in the Philosopher's Stone with Mr. Nicolas Flamel when you defeated Grindelwald in 1945—I saw it on a fragment of Nicholas's Secret Notebook in the Forbidden Books section."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly.

Then suddenly he smiled.

"It seems that Cassandra Vablaski's prophecy has come true again."

He put down the quill pen in his hand.

"A prophecy?" Dylan raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, prophecy."

Old Deng curled his lips: "This prophecy has also been recorded—there will always be curious young people who can give some old relics a new life."

Old Deng chuckled: "In fact, this prophecy has been coming true all along; there are quite a few young people with a strong sense of curiosity."

Dylan tilted his head.

"So, would you be willing to teach me some basics?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Of course, I don't mind, but..."

Old Deng suddenly chuckled, his blue eyes behind his glasses gleaming.

"Many people think of alchemy as a magic trick that turns lead into gold, but true transformation begins with seeing things as they are—do you feel ready?"

Dylan nodded slightly: "In the past few days, I have been studying all sorts of books, trying to understand alchemy. I think I understand the basic logic of alchemy and I no longer fantasize that turning lead into gold is a simple magic."

Old Deng paused.

The meditation basin behind him suddenly began to surge with silvery-white mist.

"Child, alchemy is a very difficult subject, and usually only young wizards who are in the sixth grade or above are barely qualified to get involved."

"In my opinion, it is the art of integrating star trails into metal and forging moonlight into a contract. Are you really prepared to spend ten, or even several decades or hundreds of years, learning how to make lead particles understand the song of morning dew?"

“Professor, I am ready, and—when I held the Philosopher's Stone, it was truly beautiful. Even though I knew nothing about alchemy at the time, I could still feel the wonder of alchemy.”

"Magic stone……"

Old Deng fell silent.

Dylan watched him calmly.

Speaking of the Philosopher's Stone, did that old bastard actually destroy it?
He hadn't heard any news about Nicolas Flamel's death recently.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then looked up and asked, "Child, do you think you want the Philosopher's Stone?"

Dylan was stunned.

After a moment's thought, he nodded, then shook his head.

“As I told you before, the Philosopher’s Stone is nothing more than a magical stone worth studying, but it is not worth using—I believe there must be alchemical creations that are far more powerful than the Philosopher’s Stone and can eliminate its drawbacks.”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. "It sounds like you're very confident in yourself."

"That's natural—magic is the art of forging beliefs into spells. Without unwavering will, even the most exquisite spells are nothing more than fireflies drifting in the wind, aren't they, Headmaster?"

The old man laughed out loud, tapped his finger lightly on the table, and the undried ink on the parchment suddenly transformed into fluttering butterflies, swirling between the two of them.

Dylan looked over.

It was discovered that this butterfly's transformation was not solely due to metamorphosis.

It also seemed to carry a magical trajectory that he couldn't understand.

“Well said, child, but remember—a firefly may flicker, but it can ignite an entire wasteland; magic favors the confident, but never spares the arrogant.”

Dylan nodded: "I understand."

"In that case, you can come to me anytime with your questions. I'm usually available from Tuesday to Friday afternoons at 3 PM."

Dylan's eyelashes fluttered twice: "What about in the morning or evening, Monday or the weekend?"

Dumbledore winked at him and smiled: "I do have time, but I usually like to enjoy some sweets by myself in my office—it's one of those old hobbies."

Old Deng paused.

"Furthermore, as far as I know, you and Miss Granger chose all the elective courses, so you probably won't have much time to come here during the day from Monday to Friday, right?"

“That’s true—so the time you gave me is not very reasonable. I can’t come to you to study before 3 p.m.”

"Hehehe~ Actually, you can come to see me at night too—after all, I don't have many classes to teach, so it won't be too tiring."

Dylan nodded.

Make this decision.

Dylan spoke again: "The second thing... is about your Pensieve."

Dylan looked at the silvery white mist floating behind Old Deng.

"The Pensieve?" Old Deng turned his body slightly to look behind him.

Do you want to use it?

Dylan nodded: "Not only that, actually I'd like to see the runes and symbols carved in the Pensieve up close."

Old Deng raised his chin slightly: "Oh, you want to know how the Meditation Basin is made?"

"As expected of you, you guessed it right away. I did have this idea—if I could understand the working principle of the Pensieve, I think I would make great strides in alchemy."

“Oh, my child, alchemy takes time. I know that a thirst for knowledge should not wait, but excessive progress may lead you astray.”

Dumbledore turned back around: "Do you know the purpose of the Pensieve?"

"Storing memories, reproducing memories, entering memories?"

Dumbledore nodded slightly: "It seems you read quite a lot—Mrs. Pince always mentions to me how many books you read in the library."

Dylan chuckled.

—This Mrs. Pince actually enjoys tattling so much?
"The Pensieve can store memories that wizards have magically extracted from the brain, and can also completely reproduce the details buried deep in the memory."

"It allows the owner of the memory or someone else to access the stored memory, but you know what? The Pensieve belongs to the school, and it has been used by principals for generations."

"No one knows who created it. Even if you thoroughly study the magic runes on it, you may not be able to understand its manufacturing principle."

Dylan rubbed his chin.

He did know an unverified legend about the origin of the Pensieve.

The Pensieve was discovered by the founders of Hogwarts at the very site where they decided to establish the school. It was half-buried in the ground.

As for whether he can thoroughly understand the principles behind the creation of the Pensieve...

Dylan's gaze fell on Old Deng.

He didn't believe it.

This old fellow, as a master alchemist, was capable of working with the Philosopher's Stone alongside Nicolas Flamel.

For so long, there has been no explanation for the meditation basin placed in his office.

“I understand that it won’t be easy to do this, but I’m prepared to work hard for it.”

Dylan's expression was firm: "Studying magic is my greatest pleasure."

Dumbledore looked at him with some surprise.

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

"I didn't expect you to have such insights at such a young age. I hope you can always keep this pure and innocent heart and not... go astray later."

Old Deng's voice was slightly hoarse as he spoke.

Dylan glanced at him again.

What are you thinking about now?

Is it about Grindelwald, or Tom and Little Vaughan?
Dylan has a very high level of mastery over Occlumency.

At the same time, this curse also activated a special property.

—Can you even understand what I'm reading?

Using this characteristic, Dylan could operate the Occupy Brain technique, as long as his thoughts and emotions weren't too intense.

He wasn't worried that Old Deng would overhear anything about him.

Yes, Dylan has now developed the habit of smiling nonchalantly in front of anyone.

Even though I was thinking to myself, "This professor's pointed hat is scarier than a Boggart's."

She can also turn her inner grumbling into sweetness on her tongue without even her eyelashes trembling.

"Thank you for your teachings. I will keep them in mind and pursue only the essence and wonder of magic, without using magic or empty slogans to destroy this world."

Dylan smiled and said, "In fact, Professor, I believe that magic is a product derived from the world, and if the world is destroyed, magic will also become distorted."

"So you can rest assured that I will not do anything to harm the world."

Dylan's words made Old Deng pause again.

"you……"

Dylan tilted his head: "What's wrong?"

"Your idea is excellent."

"I think so!"

Old Deng smiled faintly, but ultimately did not reveal the question he had originally intended to ask.

This child is very smart.

He was even smarter than he had imagined.

And he has already said that.

Why should he keep asking?
As long as we know that this child's heart is truly pure, that is enough.

With that thought in mind, Dumbledore stood up.

Walk over to the Pensieve.

A light, silvery-white mist swirled out.

A misty haze surrounded him.

Old Deng's already white hair was enveloped in this silver mist.

Silver threads intertwine with smog.

The mist dripped down from Old Deng's hair, condensing into tiny starlight on his shoulders, making his white hair look like threads spun from moonlight.

It exudes both the scholarly spirit refined by time and the mysterious aura of memories etched in the Pensieve.

"Actually, I'd love to tell others about the benefits of the Pensieve, but it seems like people don't really care."

Old Deng stroked the edge of the meditation basin.

The runes on them shimmered with a faint silver light as he gently stroked them with his fingertips.

"Since you're willing, I can now teach you to recognize some ancient runes—they do have many uses, but they're more focused on memory."

Upon hearing this, Dylan was overjoyed and stood up as well.

"Really, Professor?"

He walked towards Old Deng's direction.

The carpet under my feet felt soft.

When he walked up to Old Deng.

Old Deng waved his hand gently, the edge of his robe brushing against the edge of the meditation basin.

Some ancient runes gradually turned a deep blue as they were touched by the surging silver mist.

“Look at this set of intertwined runes.”

Old Deng's finger hovered above the mist.

The fragments of memory held between my fingertips fell softly into the basin.

"It signifies stripping away and rebirth—not the rebirth of life, of course. Look here, every ravine has swallowed the dawns and dusks of Hogwarts' headmasters throughout history."

As Old Deng finished speaking.

The swirling silver mist suddenly surged into a vortex.

A silhouette of a robe typically worn in the Middle Ages emerges from within.

Then, the figure kept changing.

"This is……"

Dylan stared at the figure for a moment, then turned his head to look at the surrounding walls.

"Memories of past principals?"

"Yes, child, they have been gathered here by the runes."

(End of this chapter)