The mastermind behind Hogwarts

Chapter 105 Nicolas Flamel's Recliner and Moriarty's Sky (Please Subscribe)

"It's not that simple. Haven't you noticed that the seven pages form the first picture?" The shrewd and perceptive Nicolas Flamel saw through Moriarty's thoughts. He sighed, "Keep reading. You'll discover the magic of this book after you finish it."

Moriarty turned to page eight, this time with a more serious expression.

The illustration on page eight was still incomplete. Having learned from his first experience, Moriarty skillfully flipped to page fourteen this time and then looked at it upside down.

"Seven more pages!" Moriarty turned the pages over and over. "This is the second set of pictures: a cross in a cemetery? But instead of Jesus, a snake is nailed to the cross!"

"Very good, interpretation." Nicolas Flamel's voice sounded somewhat bitter.

"The cross represents holiness and exorcism, and the crucified serpent seems to have horns or a crest on its head? I'll tentatively assume it's a basilisk. So? It represents the same meaning as the suffering Jesus."

Moriarty thought for a moment, then said, "Other wizards might not think of this. For wizards, they only believe in Merlin; what the suffering Jesus was, that he was, is irrelevant to them."

"Absolutely right," Nicolas Flamel joked. "If the Christians in the Vatican heard you say that, they'd definitely come after you."

"Have you been in contact with people from the Vatican?" Moriarty asked.

"That happened a long time ago," Nicolas Flamel said, skipping over the topic. "The serpent being nailed to the ground represents corruption, while death on the cross represents transcendence! That's the revelation the second set of pictures gave me. Now let's look at the third and final set."

Moriarty and Nicolas Flamel huddled together and turned to pages fifteen through twenty-one.

"The painting depicts several clear springs emerging from a desert, with many snakes crawling out of the springs."

Well, with a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze, if it weren't for so many snakes, this would be a hopeful story!

In fact, I wouldn't mind having more snakes.

Moriarty not only described the content of the painting but also offered his interpretation. He then conjured up a desert, recited a spell for clear water, and summoned many ghostly snakes.

The scene in the painting was perfectly replicated; the serpents flicked their tongues and wagged their tails like Chihuahuas, looking not scary at all.

Nicolas Flamel laughed so hard he almost fell over, and Moriarty strongly suspected that his frail body couldn't withstand the back-and-forth swinging and would break in the middle!

"I admire your flash of inspiration," Nicolas Flamel said after laughing for a while. "This is how I interpret it, you see—the desert represents alchemy, which I pointed out in the very first lesson."

"Yes, that's right," Moriarty agreed.

"And the clear spring is a new substance that appeared in the desert! Where did this new substance come from? From the snakes! I initially interpreted the snakes as the raw materials for creating the new substance. After several years of alchemical experiments, I discovered that strong acids could generate new substances!"

Nicolas Flamel said with great enthusiasm that even after more than five hundred years, he still spoke of alchemical experiments as if he were a young man.

"I understand," Moriarty said, looking at Nicolas Flamel. "You interpreted the three sets of drawings as the process of making the Philosopher's Stone!"

"How brilliant!" Nicolas Flamel exclaimed. "Wasn't the most crucial thing that I ultimately succeeded in creating the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Look, I wanted to make a Philosopher's Stone, so I deciphered the process from a book!" His tone turned serious. "Then, if someone wants to do something bad, will they decipher the method of evil from a book? Who can stop them then!"

I have every reason to believe that everyone who has owned this book has, without exception, gleaned from it the methods that led them to success. Some have built successful careers, while many more have used it to do unspeakable, wicked things that no one else will know about!

Moriarty nodded noncommittally. Nicolas Flamel's words were somewhat idealistic. His gaze returned to the Book of Abraham and he noticed two pictures printed on the inside back cover, the side adjacent to page twenty-one, one above the other.

Moriarty gently stroked the two paintings with his fingers; the touch was icy cold, and he determined it was some kind of metal. Now he knew why the book had so many handprints on it.

"Jews have a habit of painting with metal?" Moriarty quipped. Nicolas Flamel seemed to scoff, "Maybe. Back then, Jews weren't called Jews, they were called Hebrews. Who knows what strange habits they had?"

"These two paintings look much more vivid than the previous three sets of paintings," Moriarty picked up the book to look at it. "Then this is the fourth painting, which depicts two people."

A man wearing a hat, holding a double-serpent staff, brandished it in a fighting stance.

And he was fighting an old man with wings? The old man flew in mid-air, an hourglass above his head, a scythe in his hand, about to chop off the feet of the man wielding the double-serpent staff!

Nicolas Flamel, seemingly intrigued, asked, "What's your opinion on this?"

"The caduceus is Hermes' weapon, without a doubt. Hermes is also the founder of alchemy! This is the question Professor Perenel asked Tonks in the first class." Moriarty began to analyze the meaning of the painting.

"As for that old man? He has an hourglass on his head, and there's no doubt that an hourglass represents time. Moreover, he's carrying a scythe, so I see him as the Grim Reaper!"

Death, calculating the time, went to claim Hermes' life, and the two engaged in a fierce battle.

Nicolas Flamel offered a completely different interpretation: "I see the old man as Saturn. It's not only Death who wields the sickle; farmers also pick up sickles, don't they?"

I agree with you that the caduceus represents Hermes.

Okay, what inspiration can you get from the battle between Death and Hermes?

Following the logic of Saturn's battle with Hermes, I added some substances from the earth to my alchemical experiments, and finally discovered that lead could prevent the evaporation of mercury.

"How many years did it take you to discover this?"

"Seven years and four months."

Moriarty expressed his admiration for Nicolas Flamel with his eyes. Flamel had not lied to them; before learning formulas and runes, one could only start as an alchemy apprentice, trying one experiment after another.

Moriarty could only think of the Deathly Hallows from the great battle between Death and Hermes.

Perhaps the Deathly Hallows were nothing more than powerful alchemical tools?

Unable to judge which of the two different approaches was right or wrong, Moriarty and Nicolas Flamel continued reading.

"The fifth painting is actually in color," Moriarty remarked admiringly. Nicolas Flamel murmured, "Six hundred years have passed, and it hasn't faded."

"Well, what a wonderful painting." Moriarty shrugged. "Look, this should be the summit of a high mountain, with a flower growing on it. The stem is blue, the flowers are white and red, and the leaves are gold. It looks beautiful!"

Below the flowers, is there a golden griffin? Or a black dragon? They are building their nest on the hillside.

"So, if this painting is real, it's at least 1,200 years old?" Nicolas Flamel scratched his head for the first time.

"Be confident, let's conservatively estimate 1,500 years!"

Moriarty remembered that Salazar's diary mentioned that the golden griffin had become extinct.

As for that black dragon, it was too big. Moriarty was certain that there were no enormous black dragons in the modern magical world.

"Only five paintings?" Moriarty closed the book. "It feels like something's missing..."

Nicolas Flamel laughed: "Think about it, twenty-one pages in total, with seven pages forming one picture. This book seems to have a particular fondness for the number seven, so who knows, it might have seven pictures, don't you think?"

"Here's the problem," Moriarty said, handing the book to its owner, "where are the other two paintings?"

Nicolas Flamel did not take the book; he gently shook his head: "I'll give the book to you! You ask a good question, but I don't know."

For over six hundred years, I have not thought about this question, and I have rarely even looked at this book, for reasons other than that I no longer find any useful information in it.

I harbored a hidden worry, fearing it would bring me a curse—not a magical curse, but a curse on the soul!

"Similar to Dumbledore's reluctance to become Minister for Magic?" Moriarty caught a hint of hesitation in Nicolas Flamel's eyes.

"Ah, the Minister of Magic cannot be compared to the whole world. I firmly believe that if I hadn't devoted myself to alchemy back then, this world would probably be mine now," Nicolas Flamel said with a smile. "That's why we decided to embrace death; there was a reason in it—a desire to overcome ourselves."

Moriarty found it difficult to agree with Nicolas Flamel's viewpoint, and he frowned and slowly shook his head.

"You could have created an alchemical age, but when that age was still immature and approached you like a toddler just learning to walk, you became afraid!"

If this is all there is to the curse of the soul, then I beg you, give me many more! I long for each era to rush by like a fast train; only then can I approach the heavens of magic.

Moriarty stood up from the recliner and turned the book over and over. "I understand your thinking now. You believe this book is a prophecy about everyone! Unlike other prophecies, the prophecies in this book are decided by the book's owner himself!"

You chose the deck chair, while I chose the sky. I've accepted the book; perhaps when I find the last two paintings, you'll decipher a story that should have soared through the blue sky.

Moriarty made his chaise lounge disappear and smiled and nodded at Nicolas Flamel.

Nicolas Flamel was not angry; he extended his right hand and said, "I look forward to that day."

"I'll make the most of every second." Moriarty extended his right hand, responding with the words they had made during their bet, and then clasped his hands together firmly.

With a soft "snap," Nicolas Flamel's hand hung limply from his wrist. Moriarty's eyelids twitched. "Ahem, your hand is broken. Let me do an experiment? I guarantee I'll give you a right hand that won't break."

(End of this chapter)