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Someone was blatantly cheating.
Ian couldn’t continue playing this magical version of [Fight the Sorcerer King], a wizard’s take on Chinese poker, anymore. He was deeply curious how the black-robed skeleton could just change its cards at will.
However, Ian found it hard to analyze this “wishcraft” method, which was fundamentally different from conventional magic. And he couldn’t get any answers from the black-robed skeleton either.
“I… don’t have a brain, I don’t know.”
Whenever faced with any question that required thought, the skeleton would confidently raise a finger bone and point at its empty skull.
“…”
Ian was at a total loss. He felt the same helplessness and frustration a sane person might feel when dealing with a mentally unstable individual.
“You don’t have a brain, yet you still know how to cheat! You must’ve been even worse when you were alive!” Ian could only vent his anger with some snappy comebacks.
But the black-robed skeleton remained completely unbothered.
“I’m still alive… If you give me flesh and blood, I’ll admit I’m very, very, very bad.”
Not only did it not feel insulted, it actually took the opportunity to bring up the same request to Ian again.
These past few days, as long as it got the chance, the black-robed skeleton would repeatedly mention the topic of granting it flesh and blood. However, Ian had already tried using meat obtained from the house-elves.
It didn’t stick.
It wasn’t just that butchered pork, lamb, or beef couldn’t attach to the skeleton; even the live poultry he had painstakingly bought from Hogsmeade didn’t work. He had even crossed a moral line to study some flesh-related dark magic.
Fortunately, the book “Secrets of Dark Magic” had some relevant spells. Otherwise, if Ian had to look them up in the library, who knows if Albus Dumbledore would start suspecting him of engaging in some shady business.
“We’ve already tried that, haven’t we! I’m one step away from grabbing some living humans for you. Just look at your own bones, no flesh-granting magic works on your body at all!” Ian was extremely annoyed by the skeleton’s constant nagging, which is why he had tried so many different methods.
But all of them had failed due to the skeleton’s magic-resistant nature. So even if he really went and got living humans, Ian figured the result would be the same.
“Magic… not…” The skeleton’s speech system, if it could be called that, still seemed damaged. Despite having been in the human world for so long, it still sounded broken and awkward.
“Same as before, give it some thought. I can build you a mechanical brain, a mecanical synthetic skin, and other matching metal organs. Flesh is weak. Rise with the machine, my iron dude.” Ian glanced at the messy card table. The moment his eyes shifted, the Dementor instantly caught the cue and began cleaning up.
From a once wild and unruly monster, it had now been trained by Ian to have both the intelligence and emotional awareness of a ten-year-old child. Given a little more time, it could probably be sent out to earn money.
“Flesh… is loved…”
The black-robed skeleton was completely unmoved by Ian’s repeated offers. It seemed obsessively attached to the flesh it had lost. After the game, it began muttering again beside Ian’s ear.
Ian ignored it.
He went straight to a corner of the room, there, a carefully kiln-fired ceramic flowerpot had been sitting for some time. It was a self-sufficient product Ian had molded, painted, and glazed with his own hands.
All because of the outrageous prices for flowerpots in Hogsmeade, Ian had to make his own. The outside of the pot was decorated with minimalist linework, giving people a sense of design alongside the greenery. The patterns were actually magical runes Ian had drawn.
The effect was simple: these magical texts provided necessary growth conditions for plants, allowing them to perform photosynthesis without needing to be placed outside in the sun, and what was being grown in that pot wasn’t some ordinary plant like windgrass. It was a mysterious seed Ian had acquired from the tower in the Twilight Zone.
“Hurry up and sprout for me. Once you do, I’ll water you with potions.”
Back in the tower, Ian had felt a strong premonition: this seed, buried in the Twilight Zone alongside the tower for who knows how many years yet still full of vitality, was anything but ordinary.
He truly believed that once it sprouted, it would bring him a big surprise.
No matter what,
There was definitely something up with the seed from the tower.
Even after Ian had combed through countless books on magical plants in the Hogwarts library and had even consulted Professor Pomona Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House, all the answers he received were the same: no known plant’s seed could retain vitality for centuries after being removed from its growth conditions.
The sheer vitality of this seed was something no one could explain. Not only had it been stored in the tower for who knows how long, but the environment it had been kept in was the Twilight Zone, a world of the dead.
And yet it had not withered or decayed in the slightest. Still lush and vibrant green, it brimmed with life. Given that, Ian’s hope that it might grow into a world tree wasn’t exactly unreasonable.
Of course, he was also prepared for the plant to be difficult to cultivate. After all, it had been buried in the soil for quite some time now, yet showed no signs of sprouting.
“As long as you don’t make me wait ten or twenty years, I’ll wait for you,” Ian muttered to the flowerpot as he watered it, a textbook example of someone who forgets their old flame when a new one appears. It wasn’t that he was bored out of his mind when alone, but rather, he genuinely believed in the metaphysics of “emotional value.”
After all, even some alchemical artifacts lasted longer when loved by their owners. So how could a wondrous magical plant be any different? Ian had personally witnessed his good roommate William curse out his copying quill once, and the very next day, that quill conveniently broke.
It might not be scientific. It might not be logical. But it was definitely mystical… and believing in it a little wouldn’t hurt. Ever since Ian brought up this theory, William had been praising every single one of his belongings, and sure enough, none of them had broken down again since.
“What are you guys doing?”
Ian had just finished watering and applying his homemade organic fertilizer when he turned and saw the black-robed skeleton hitting the Dementor.
The Dementor could only flee with its head in its hands, not daring to fight back.
“There’s… no other entertainment… I’m… very bored.” The black-robed skeleton responded to Ian while still chasing after the Dementor, who was wailing and begging for mercy.
Ian felt like he was raising a cat and a dog.
He wanted to mediate.
But he was also afraid the black-robed skeleton would hit him too, so he had to let the Dementor suffer a bit. In truth, the skeleton mostly just wanted to pry open the Dementor’s mouth and stick its head inside to take a look.
Since the Dementor didn’t want to cooperate, it got beaten instead. Maybe enduring this was part of the road to becoming the King of Dementors.
“When Heaven assigns a great mission to the Dementor, it must first strain its bones and exhaust its mind… This is your tribulation, my friend.” Ian wasn’t sure if that consoled the Dementor at all,
But at least its pitiful wails were now much quieter.
…
The next day,
Newt Scamander, his wife, and his sister-in-law left the school. Ian didn’t know whether or not they had reached an agreement with Nicolas Flamel regarding the Time Turner. Since they didn’t meet again, Ian hadn’t been able to promote his necromancy further, but he didn’t really mind. He hadn’t even used the key to the Grindelwald family vault yet.
For now, the priority was to continue studying. With Voldemort and Quirrell gone, campus life was peaceful again, and there weren’t many students discussing what happened with Quirrell.
Maybe it was because not many people really knew Quirrell in the first place.
Day by day, time continued to pass.
With so much to research and work on, Ian’s free time after class and meals was full and productive. The second-generation warming product he had developed, Life-Saving Hand Warmer, was a huge success, finally defeating the Weasley twins’ products in Hogwarts’ campus market for the first time.
After all, their alchemy skills weren’t even in the same league. Once Ian found the right market direction, his advantages became obvious. It was finally a moment for Ravenclaw to shine.
Of course, the one shining most was Ian himself. After overwhelming the Hogwarts market with his absolute dominance, he even took the opportunity to advertise himself in the Great Hall.
“Professional Hogwarts Anti-Lost Maps! Winter Cold Remedy Potions! Hogsmeade Snack Sourcing! I also accept custom alchemy toy commissions for anything you want!”
“As for the scope of this customization, just know this: payment upon satisfaction! You think it, I make it! There’s nothing I can’t create!” Ian made his pitch loudly and proudly while the professors were away; he couldn’t have sounded bolder.
The whole vibe was pure arrogance.
With his exceptional talent in [Transcendent Alchemy], Ian could produce things at a low cost that others could only create at high cost. If he opened a shop in Diagon Alley, he probably wouldn’t encounter a single worthy competitor.
“What about things that school rules don’t allow us to possess?” A student asked, eager and full of curiosity.
“If the school rules permit it, I’ll sell it. If they don’t… then I’ll sell it for extra. You have to understand, school rules are dead, people are alive! There’s always a way around the rules! Trust me! I’ve been professionally skirting them all year!” Ian lowered his voice when replying to that question.
He didn’t want the twin brothers, his main competitors, catching wind of his schemes. To be honest, making money wasn’t Ian’s primary motivation in selling these things; he genuinely wanted to help his classmates.
Of course, improving his [Alchemy] Proficiency was also a major reason Ian was so proactive in promoting his products. The higher the level of his abilities, the more he needed to try new and unfamiliar experiments.
To say he was stealing his classmates’ alchemy ideas would be too harsh, Ian saw it more as a collaborative, crowd-sourced form of study and improvement.
Anyway, the students were happy.
Ian was happy.
Everyone won, and Ian won twice.
After advertising his services, Ian received a ton of orders from students across all years, and even the twin brothers from Gryffindor placed a custom order for a particularly complex prank item.
Ian accepted every single one.
He wasn’t worried that the twins would learn his techniques from these collaborations.
Only the Slytherin House, who had had some “misunderstandings” with Ian, didn’t really place any orders. Of course, they didn’t dare go to the professors and report Ian’s “illegal business,” either.
But when the Slytherins started seeing students from other Houses showing off new and fascinating items for entertainment, they couldn’t sit still any longer and eventually approached the true black-market merchant of Hogwarts.
Aurora.
She took the opportunity to sell a bunch of overpriced, underpowered “Founder’s Relics.” And those Slytherin students who got their hands on the new toys had no idea that their ideas and innovations were also being passed through Aurora to Ian, becoming yet another source of nourishment for his growth in alchemy.
Yes.
That’s why people say Aurora was the real cunning merchant. Her rate of progress in the art of scheming was astonishing. Once an innocent girl, she’d now fully evolved into a genuine middlewoman scalper.
Ian probably deserved some credit for that transformation, too. After all, it was Ian who encouraged her to take orders from Slytherin and even got Daphne Greengrass, leader of the Anti-Prince Alliance, to put on a bit of a performance to help with the sales. For a few gold galleons that she normally wouldn’t even look at, Daphne worked hard.
Ian could tell that Daphne Greengrass didn’t just “respect” his authority. She was genuinely broke. During Christmas break, she and her bestie had even resorted to flipping pastries from the house-elves’ kitchen.
A pure-blood lady had fallen so far, Ian couldn’t bear to see it. So he successfully flipped the leader of the Anti-Prince Alliance for just two gold galleons.
Life was going great for Ian, and he was loving every minute of it. His joyful days continued right up until another blurry day, when, after class, he went to see Nicolas Flamel to ask some questions about alchemy.
Aside from absorbing the brilliant ideas of his fellow students, Ian was also diligently learning from the old professor’s alchemy experience. As a result, his [Alchemy] Proficiency was increasing rapidly.
Nicolas Flamel’s progress in researching the Tower’s magic text was also way beyond Ian’s expectations.
In just a few days, the old man was already capable of using the Tower’s magic text system to construct small-scale magical works.
“Compared to runes, this kind of magic text requires less magical power. But the learning curve is much steeper. I think that’s probably why it was abandoned in history,” Flamel even gave his own evaluation of the script.
“Kind of like how modern alchemy replaced the rune-based alchemy systems of ancient times?” Ian mused. He figured this kind of historical shift had likely happened more than once.
“Exactly. And just like how ancient alchemy had certain limitations compared to modern alchemy, this magic text can also achieve some effects that runes can’t match.” Flamel didn’t offer a demonstration, he simply kept working on his alchemical project as he spoke to Ian.
He was currently refining Ian’s black sand into the Sand of Time.
This alchemy Master was very serious and focused whenever performing any alchemy operation. He wore robes adorned with strange symbols and held a silver staff carved with a totem representing the flow of time. Around him lay various mysterious texts and ancient books, clearly indicating this was either his first time or the first time in a long while performing this kind of alchemy.
“What kind of effect are you aiming for? Something related to time manipulation?” Ian glanced at the black sand placed inside a container, where some kind of solution was constantly boiling and refining it.
“That’s one aspect, time, space. Using this ancient era magic script you discovered makes it easier to control. But its true potential lies in its ability to bear divine grace,” Nicolas Flamel said, mixing a rare solvent from pure water and lunar essence.
Its color sparkled like the Milky Way.
He slowly poured it into a container carved from deep yellow crystal. Like a chemistry experiment, the solution already inside the crystal vessel immediately underwent a violent transformation.
“Divine grace?” Ian blinked with curiosity. Of course, he knew there were gods in the world he lived in, but he wasn’t very familiar with civilizations that frequently interacted with the divine.
And he wasn’t alone.
In fact, most modern wizards knew very little about that era. The most detailed historical records of wizards barely traced back beyond the time of King Arthur and Merlin. For periods before Arthur and Merlin, only scattered ancient texts remained, hard to study and as obscure as China’s Xia Dynasty, which predates even the Shang Dynasty.
“Although we know little about the gods, and we live in an era when gods are inactive, the existence of gods in this world is no myth.”
“From the Death God known to most people today, to the Sun God Apollo served by the ancestors of our Divination professor, to Odin and the Norse gods of Northern mythology.”
“There are theories that wizards are descendants of gods, and others that gods granted humans their magical powers. Whether any of these theories are right or wrong, all wizards agree on one thing: there’s plenty of historical evidence proving the age of the gods truly existed.”
Nicolas Flamel shook the container in his hand as he spoke confidently.
“Could they have just been especially powerful wizards?” Ian’s perspective differed from most. He truly believed in the traditional view that wizards themselves are gods.
After all, many facts he had encountered supported this belief.
“You have a very typical alchemist’s mindset, and that’s good. It will ultimately lead you toward greatness,” Flamel said approvingly.
Clearly, he agreed with this view.
“No matter whether these gods were once wizards like you and me, in essence, they are just life forms stronger than us wizards now. At least that’s how we alchemists think. The power they wield is simply related to the fundamental laws governing the world.”
“Even the Death God has a legend: he was the first person to ever die in this world, and thus was chosen by the rules to become the Death God we all know.”
Nicolas Flamel spoke while observing the refining efficiency of the black sand.
“Divine grace is powerful, and so is godly power. But the true Creator once told others it’s all just magic, only that this kind of magic is more nonsensical than ordinary magic.”
He had mentioned this true Creator revered by alchemists more than once to Ian. Ian was curious whether this true Creator rapped like a god screaming ghosts and spirits.
“Maybe the true Creator was right,” Ian now found himself liking this mysterious true Creator, whom nobody really knew what he looked like. Many of the Creator’s philosophies resonated emotionally with Ian.
According to Nicolas Flamel, this true Creator was a powerful and somewhat eccentric ancient wizard. Ian thought if this ancient wizard were alive today, he’d probably be his closest friend.
“Yes, maybe that’s the truth, and also the reason why the path of legends was cut off,” Flamel sighed, making Ian curious about the connection to the legendary path.
He immediately asked.
Nicolas Flamel had no intention of hiding it.
He gave a deep glance at the young wizard before him, one who had embarked on the path of legends in this age of the waning of magic.
“Pureblood dragons are almost impossible to wipe out completely. Their gradual extinction, as well as the disappearance of other paths to reach the legendary, all started with our ancestor Merlin and a few others as reckless as he. They wanted to tread into realms they shouldn’t have peeked into, and they even found a way.”
“Although they ultimately didn’t succeed, their actions caused panic among some higher-level existences. That’s why you see the four founders of Hogwarts become the last legends.”
“The Golden Apple was cut down, the era of feudal monarchies ruled by one supreme being ended, and even western dragons gradually lost the ability to bear pureblood offspring. They were forced to continue their bloodline through other creatures.”
“Behind all this… It’s obviously unlikely that there’s no strangeness involved.” Nicolas Flamel didn’t say everything outright, but his meaning was clear.
This alchemy Master was obviously implying that everything was related to the gods.
Ian pondered silently. He didn’t know how much evidence Nicolas Flamel’s claims had, but he was certain the extinction of the Golden Apple tree had little to do with the gods.
After all, Professor Morgan herself had admitted to committing that crime.
“Is the Golden Apple also related to the path of legends?” Ian suspected Professor Morgan was hiding something from him. Maybe his ability to directly step onto the path of legends was linked to having eaten the Golden Apple.
“The Golden Apple can be used in a ritual. It’s the core component of that ritual,” Nicolas Flamel said. He clearly had collected a lot of information about the path of legends over the past six hundred years.
That was only natural.
After all, like Albus Dumbledore, he was limited by the times and never reached the level of a legendary alchemist. Naturally, he would have some obsession and yearning in this area.
It was only Albus Dumbledore who seemed not to care much about legends.
Thinking of this, Ian glanced toward a corner, worried that the Hogwarts headmaster, who hadn’t been seen for days, might be hiding there.
Perhaps to minimize influence on the timeline, Ian and other professors hadn’t seen Dumbledore for many days.
Heaven only knows he had mastered the “splitting spell” to create multiple bodies… If Dumbledore wanted to be unfindable, almost no one could break his Disillusionment Charm.
“Establishing a feudal dynasty as well?” Ian had never heard of this way of stepping onto the path of legends before, and it made him recall some long-buried memories from past lives.
To Ian’s question, Nicolas Flamel didn’t answer directly.
“Guess why every civilization, muggles, us, all have faith in gods?” He indirectly explained to Ian the destination of the path of legends.
Perhaps such views originated from the attempts of Merlin’s era.
“Learned something new today.” Seeing Nicolas Flamel about to start a dangerous experiment, Ian immediately packed up his things to leave the office.
Last time he was late running out and got splashed with exploding black sand, then spent three hours acting like a baby. Once bitten, twice shy, he had to avoid risks in advance.
Sure enough, Nicolas Flamel softly chanted ancient spells. As the spells echoed, the solvent inside the container rippled, as if resonating with the pulse of the deep cosmos.
He was beginning the final phase of refining the Sands of Time. Although this alchemy Master probably knew the recipe, some steps and proportions still required repeated practice and refinement.
As the spells and ritual finished, the most dangerous step was about to come.
“Oh, professor,” Ian stopped at the office door and looked up at the paintings hanging on the wall next to it.
They didn’t move, but their colors were vivid and highly contrasting, full of visual impact.
“Can I borrow some of these Van Gogh paintings to study?” Yes, Ian had just recently learned that Nicolas Flamel had once bought many of Van Gogh’s paintings from the artist himself at a low price.
One could say Flamel was quite the opportunist. Long life gives you plenty of chances to snap up bargains.
“You’re not thinking of selling them for me, are you? Though I have quite a few at home, they’re unique pieces. I was planning to take these paintings with me into my… no, never mind, take them,” Nicolas Flamel paused his work, then suddenly changed his mind as if remembering something.
“I’m just borrowing them for a bit.”
Ian felt that Nicolas Flamel misunderstood him deeply.
“Really? You are just borrowing?” Nicolas Flamel looked suspicious.
After all, he had personally seen Ian one night carrying that strange black Phoenix, coming to ask if the story about paying five million gold galleons to buy a Phoenix was true.
Would someone so obsessed with money really pass up a chance to get rich?
“You should have some faith in my copying skills,” Ian said confidently. His words made Nicolas Flamel pause for a moment before he figured out what Ian meant.
‘Good grief! This little guy was actually thinking about selling fake paintings in the Muggle world! He had seriously overestimated the other’s morals!’
“You…”
Nicolas Flamel’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice, and in the end, he just waved his hand numbly, watching Ian happily carry away two genuine Van Gogh originals.
“Gū lū~ gū lū~ gū lū~”
After Ian left, Nicolas Flamel poured out the refined black sand. After thoroughly removing any remaining solvent on the surface, he reversed his hand and poured it into a container enchanted with ritual magic.
Then a fierce reaction began.
The solution inside the container and the black sand started violently transforming. They fused and converted, eventually condensing into grains of Sands of Time, shimmering with interwoven gold and silver light. Each grain seemed alive, dancing and weaving illusions within the liquid, visions of past, present, and future.
“It worked! I did it!”
Nicolas Flamel jubilantly gestured with his hands and feet. He regretted not forcing Ian to stay; surely he could have shared this joy and sense of accomplishment with someone.
“It’s not like I only turned into a baby for a few hours… I also got beaten by him, and yet he’s so scared,” Nicolas Flamel glanced at the enormous Marauder’s Map hanging in his office.
The young wizard had rushed back to the Room of Requirement in just a few minutes, well, actually Nicolas Flamel had obviously misunderstood the real reason Ian ran so fast.
He thought Ian was afraid of being caught in the explosion.
However,
That was only a minor factor. The main reason Ian hurried back to the Room of Requirement was because tonight was his own special Night.
“Finally, I can hand the Magic Mirror to Professor Morgan and ask her about all those doubts I have,” Ian eagerly enjoyed the Dementor’s foot massage service.
Then he quickly slipped into the bed he had prepared long ago in this room.
The soft bedding seemed to swallow all fatigue and gently envelop him. As his consciousness faded, Ian truly saw the Professor Morgan he had longed for.
But!
“Holy crap! What am I dreaming tonight?”
Ian found himself hanging on a cross, candle wax dripping down from above like raindrops, exploding into patches of bright red plum blossoms on his body.
Professor Morgan, whom he thought about every day, stood before him, but this Morgan wore a witch’s robe and held a whip. The barbs on the whip made Ian’s heart tremble.
“Wake up!”
Fortunately, Ian had studied dream control.
Before the whip could strike, he suddenly woke up from the soft bed, returning from the dream to reality. The familiar surroundings made him breathe a big sigh of relief.
“What’s going on? Why didn’t I enter the Twilight Zone?” Ian rubbed his eyes in confusion, double-checking the date to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake.
Just as he put down his hands,
“Hm?”
The contract mark on his wrist, the one from the black-robed skeleton, was flickering with a breathing-like rhythm of light and dark. At this moment, Ian seemed to immediately understand the strange cause of everything.
“Holy crap!”
He jumped up from the bed and dashed toward the black-robed skeleton that never needed to sleep or eat and forced the Dementor to play cards with him all night.
“What the hell is your damn contract doing?! Give me back my access rights!” Ian tackled the much taller black-robed skeleton, straddling it and grabbing its neck while it looked confused.
“You must have smuggled and got blacklisted!”
Ian shook the skeleton’s empty skull berserkly.
Its soul fire flickered wildly inside its head.
“I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die.”
Who would’ve thought,
This skeleton could even scream in panic.
(End of Chapter)
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395