The Old Ones of Hogwarts

Chapter 565-574: The Prelude to the Deep Space Descent 3

Few wizards can do it, but some people can.

Grindelwald was one of them.

He downplayed it.

Some people are pretentious.

Ian looked at him speechlessly, then continued searching.

This time, the harvest was even more astonishing.

Phoenix tail feathers—three feathers from the Phoenix King. Done.

Dragon's Tears—a whole tankful. Done.

Basilisk fangs—eight complete. Done.

Grindelwald dragged a box from the corner, opened it, and inside were twenty thumb-sized pieces of the Philosopher's Stone.

Each piece radiated a gentle, golden glow.

Ian's eyes widened in disbelief: "This—how is this possible? Nicolas Flamel gave it to you too?"

Grindelwald shook his head, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I made it myself. It's not a complete Philosopher's Stone, but I can still make some fragments."

Ian was silent for a few seconds, then gave a sincere thumbs up: "You're ruthless."

Finally, the sands of time.

Grindelwald led the two to the deepest corner of the vault. There, they found a crystal box wrapped in countless protective spells.

He broke the spell and opened the box.

Inside was a small clump of silvery-white sand, more than five times more than Dumbledore's clump.

"Is that enough?" Grindelwald asked.

Ian glanced at it and shook his head: "Almost there."

Grindelwald frowned. "Still short? This is all the stock I have."

Dumbledore remained silent for a few seconds, then slowly said, "It seems we have no choice but to go to him."

Grindelwald looked at him, a complex light flashing in his heterochromatic eyes: "Nico Flamel?"

Dumbledore nodded: "In this world, if there is anyone else who can gather all these materials, it is him."

He paused, a meaningful smile playing on his lips: "Besides, he owes me a favor."

When I came out of Gringotts, it was already getting light.

In the early morning in London, a thick fog blanketed the streets, which were deserted. In the distance, the Thames River appeared and disappeared in the morning mist, like a sleeping silver serpent.

Ian walked between the two, carrying a bulging bag—materials they had looted from the two vaults. It wasn't quite enough, but it was much better than they had expected.

"Nico Flamel—" Grindelwald suddenly spoke up, "Is he really willing to help?"

Dumbledore didn't answer directly, but instead asked, "Do you know why he lived for over six hundred years?"

-

Grindelwald thought for a moment: "Because of the Philosopher's Stone?"

"It wasn't just because of the Philosopher's Stone," Dumbledore said, "but because he understood a principle—that some things are more important than immortality."

He paused, his gaze becoming distant: "For example, friends."

Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then chuckled softly. In that laugh was self-deprecation, relief, and a complex emotion that was hard to describe: "Friend—what a luxurious word."

Ian looked up at them, his deep eyes gleaming with a light beyond his years. He didn't speak, but simply walked and listened quietly.

The morning mist gradually dissipated.

In the distance, the sun is rising.

And they are heading towards the world's greatest alchemist, who has lived for over six hundred years.

Heading toward that crucial point that could decide everything.

In the Devon countryside, the morning mist had not yet completely dissipated.

Dumbledore led the two through a dense forest, finally stopping in front of a seemingly ordinary farmhouse. The farmhouse was covered in vines, warm light shone from the windows, and wisps of smoke rose from the chimney. Everything seemed so ordinary, so peaceful.

But Ian could sense that the seemingly ordinary farmhouse was shrouded in layers upon layers of dazzlingly complex protective magic. Each layer of magic was enough to obliterate even the most powerful Auror.

"We've arrived," said Dumbledore, stepping forward and gently knocking on the green-painted wooden door.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

The person who opened the door was an elderly woman who looked to be in her sixties, with gray hair and a kind face, wearing an apron embroidered with stars. When she saw Dumbledore, a warm smile bloomed on her face: "Albus! Long time no see!"

Dumbledore smiled and gave her a gentle hug: "Perenel, you're still so young."

"Stop being so glib," the old woman said with a smile, her gaze passing over Dumbledore and landing on Grindelwald and Ian. Her eyes narrowed slightly the instant they met Grindelwald's—a knowing, all-knowing kind of narrowing.

It's the kind of perspective only someone who has lived for hundreds of years would have.

But she didn't say anything, she just stepped aside and said, "Come in. Nicole is in the study."

The farmhouse is much more spacious inside than it appears from the outside.

After passing through a short corridor and pushing open an oak door, the three entered a study filled with books and alchemy tools. Flames flickered in the fireplace, illuminating the entire room warmly and brightly.

An old man sat behind the desk.

His hair was snow-white, his long beard reached his chest, his face was kind and wise, and his eyes were as clear as a baby's. He wore a simple robe and held a thick ancient book in his hands, reading it intently.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and his gaze slowly swept over the three people.

When he saw Dumbledore, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

When he saw Grindelwald, he raised an eyebrow slightly.

Upon seeing Ian—

His pupils suddenly contracted.

In that instant, Ian felt an indescribable, gentle yet irresistible force sweep over him. That force was like the softest feather, yet it could penetrate all disguises and reach the depths of his soul.

A few seconds later, Nicolas Flamel put down the ancient book and slowly stood up.

His gaze remained fixed on Ian, his clear eyes flashing with a complex light—shock, awe, and a hint of indescribable understanding.

"Destiny—" he murmured, his voice hoarse and low, surprisingly recognizing Ian's magical fluctuations, "The embodiment of destiny—has actually appeared in my study."

Dumbledore and Grindelwald both looked at Ian.

Ian simply smiled and remained silent.

Nicolas Flamel paused for a few seconds, then turned to Dumbledore, his tone returning to normal: "Albus, this is the first time in all these years that you've brought so many 'special' guests to see me. So, what is it?"

Dumbledore handed over the list.

Nico took it, glanced at it, and his expression became subtle.

"Phoenix tail feathers—Dragon tears—Basilisk fangs—Shards of the Philosopher's Stone—Sands of Time—" he chanted, then looked up at Dumbledore. "What are you doing? Building a time machine?"

"Almost," Dumbledore said. "We need these materials to fix something."

Nicole's gaze fell on Ian again. After a few seconds of silence, he nodded. "I understand."

He walked back to his desk, took a small velvet box from a drawer, and handed it to Dumbledore: "Inside is a small, complete piece of the Philosopher's Stone. Not a fragment, but the whole thing. Enough for you."

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly: "Nicole, this—"

"Stop talking." Nico waved his hand. "Over six hundred years have passed, and I've long understood one thing—some things are more important than the Philosopher's Stone. For example, the future of this world."

He then took out a crystal bottle from another drawer, filled with silvery-white sand: "The Sands of Time, one gram exactly. Is that enough?"

Ian nodded. "That's enough."

Nico handed the item to Dumbledore, then looked at Ian again. His own light was deep and complex, as if gazing upon something beyond comprehension: "The embodiment of destiny—" he murmured, "I always thought it was just a legend. I never imagined—"

He paused, then suddenly smiled. In that smile were relief, expectation, and a hint of the slyness characteristic of the elderly: "Child, promise me one thing."

Ian looked at him: "Please speak."

"Once you've fixed that thing, if you need any help—" Nicolas Flamel's eyes gleamed, "remember to call this old man. I've lived for over six hundred years and have never seen a real time machine."

3

Ian paused for a moment, then smiled.

The smile on his youthful face was exceptionally bright and sincere: "Definitely."

In fact, Ian needs help right now.

"Um, Professor," Ian smiled slightly, looking at Nicolas Flamel's eyes, which were sparkling with curiosity, "I need help right now."

Nico raised an eyebrow slightly: "Oh?"

Ian took out the complex model he had shown before, composed of countless gears and rays of light, from his pocket. At this moment, the model slowly rotated in his palm.

It radiates a mysterious light that transcends time and space, and is clearer and more complete than when it was displayed in the tavern before.

"Is this a time machine?" Nico's eyes lit up instantly, almost eclipsing the flames in the fireplace. He quickly walked around the desk, leaned close to Ian, stared at the model, and looked like a child seeing his favorite toy.

"Let me see, let me see!" His voice was filled with barely suppressed excitement. He reached out his hand, but then stopped in mid-air, as if afraid of damaging some precious treasure. "This—this is real? A time machine? That thing can actually be built?"

Grindelwald watched from the side, a complex light flashing in his heterochromatic eyes. He had seen too many things claiming to be able to travel through time, most of them just hoaxes. But this one before him—the light, the aura, the incomprehensible mystery—made him have no choice but to believe that it might really be true.

Dumbledore stood quietly to the side, a faint smile playing on his lips. He knew Nico—his old friend who had lived for over six hundred years—and his almost obsessive passion for anything new, mysterious, or beyond comprehension. Seeing the time machine excited him even more than seeing the Philosopher's Stone.

Yes, that's right.

Ian nodded and gently placed the model on the desk.

As soon as the model touched the table, it immediately grew larger, from the size of a palm to about the size of two fists, revealing its complex internal structure more clearly.

"It took me a long time to restore it to this point, and to be honest, I'm pretty good at it," Ian said, pointing to the constantly turning gears and flowing light. "But some key components are too badly damaged, and my alchemical skills are not enough to fully repair them."

He looked up at Nico, his deep eyes shining with sincerity: "So, I'd like to ask for your help."

Nico was no longer listening to what he was saying.

His entire attention was drawn to the time machine. He circled the desk again and again, carefully observing its complex structure from every angle. Every now and then, he would reach out his hand, only to stop mid-air, muttering to himself, "The way these gears mesh—no, this isn't an ordinary gear, this is—this is—"

He suddenly stopped, abruptly raised his head, and an incredulous light flashed in his clear eyes.

"This is Titan technology!"

Now it was Ian's turn to be surprised.

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at Nico, his voice tinged with disbelief: "You—know about Titan's technology?"

Nico didn't answer, but quickly walked to the corner of the bookshelf and took out a thick, ancient book from a seemingly inconspicuous drawer. The cover of the book was damaged, and the pages were yellowed, clearly indicating its great age. He carefully turned the pages, finally stopping at a certain page, and pushed the book in front of Ian.

"Look at this."

Ian looked down, his pupils contracting slightly.

On that page was a complex diagram of a gear structure, surrounded by dense annotations. The way the gears meshed and their arrangement were strikingly similar to the gears in his time machine.

"I found this in an ancient ruin when I was young," Nico said, a hint of reminiscence in his voice. "That ruin—supposedly left by the Titans. I studied it for a long time, but I could never fully understand it. Until today, seeing your time machine—"

He looked at Ian, his gaze growing even deeper: "The technology of the Titans has been lost for tens of thousands of years. Even I, who have lived for over six hundred years, have only seen a few scattered fragments. How could you possibly possess a complete time machine?"

Ian paused for a few seconds, then slowly began to speak: "In my time, there was a place—a place that housed many things from ancient times. The technology of the Titans was just one of them."

This is a white lie.

He didn't go into too much detail, but Nico understood. He didn't ask any further questions, just nodded, and his gaze returned to the time machine.

“Okay, I won’t ask. But you need to know—this thing isn’t just alchemy. It involves the essence of spacetime, the rules of fate, and—” Nick knew Ian was hiding something, so he paused and looked at Ian, “beings at the Titan level.”

Ian nodded. "I know. That's why I came to you. If there's anyone in this world who can help me fix it, it's you."

Nico was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed. The smile on his aged face was particularly bright and triumphant: "Good, good! I never thought that after living for more than six hundred years, I would still have the opportunity to touch something like this!" He rolled up his sleeves, revealing his lean arms, and walked to the desk.

The old man stared at the time machine, his eyes burning with intense passion.

"Come on, let's begin!"

Once this guy got into the swing of things, he moved even faster than the young people.