Chapter 77: Transcript Of Undiscovered Conversations
Melvin lowered his gaze to look at her, with a faint smile.
“……”
Why did Professor Levent’s gaze also have the same oppressive force as Professor McGonagall’s.
The little witch felt somewhat guilty under his gaze but still didn’t want to give up, saying weakly, “Professor, my mother told me that friends should help each other, especially when facing difficulties.”
Melvin shook his head, slowing his steps as he continued toward the castle: “Hermione, do you remember at the beginning of last term? You were always pointing out their spellcasting techniques in class, which led to several stiff confrontations with your classmates.”
Hermione fell silent, hesitating before saying: “Do you mean I’m making the same mistake? But I think Hagrid’s matter is different from studying spells……”
That night during the Forbidden Forest patrol, she had discovered the dragon egg, but she hadn’t had a chance to discuss it with Hagrid. Not two days later, Quirinus Quirrell’s incident happened, Harry was hospitalized unconscious, and Hagrid was crying his eyes out every time; she didn’t feel right bringing it up again.
A couple of days ago, Harry woke up, and they took advantage of the weekend to visit Hagrid’s hut, where Hermione finally brought up the dragon egg matter.
But Hagrid only had eyes for the dragon egg and saw himself as the fire dragon mother. Harry had just been discharged, his head full of pumpkin juice, and he muddledly sided with Hagrid. Ron had no brains at all, saying hatching a fire dragon was cool.
That dragon was due to hatch next week; what could she do, just watch Hagrid make a mistake and get expelled from school?
“There won’t be any troubles endangering personal safety at school, um, at least not in the next few months. The Forbidden Forest matters will be handled by the centaurs. If Hagrid really encounters unmanageable trouble, he can seek help from Dumbledore. Excluding those situations, the rest is private business.”
Melvin ruffled her hair and said to Hermione: “Whether you discovered it yourself or Hagrid told you proactively, the fact that you know the inside story is proof of his trust in you, so you shouldn’t casually leak the news to others, not even to me.”
Hermione looked thoughtful, then slightly tilted her head up to gaze at the professor: “I asked beforehand if you were friends.”
“If Hagrid really needs my help, he should bring it up himself.” Melvin said, lowering his head for a look before silently quickening his steps.
The little witch’s hair was already fluffy and slightly curly; after a few ruffles, it was even more unbearable to look at, messy like an owl’s nest.
“……”
Hermione lowered her head in distress, pondering. A few minutes later, she looked up, her gaze following Melvin’s figure heading toward the foyer, her mouth pursed tightly.
Heading straight back to the castle, Melvin felt no psychological burden. Hogwarts had even nurtured the Dark Lord, and there was still a basilisk hibernating in the castle’s Chamber of Secrets; hatching a fire dragon was nothing.
Melvin didn’t believe Dumbledore was completely unaware of it.
He suspected the old headmaster might want to use this opportunity to teach the gamekeeper a lesson. Professor Kettleburn was missing limbs and getting on in years; he would retire next year, and the Care of Magical Creatures position couldn’t be left vacant. Hagrid was the ready successor.
This half-giant had been around magical creatures since childhood, served as gamekeeper for decades, and gotten along with the forest creatures for decades; he had sufficient ability to take on the role.
His personality just needed some polishing.
Back in school, he hatched an acromantula in a cabinet, and now he was hatching a fire dragon in his hut. If he didn’t suffer a bit, who knew what chaos he might cause after taking over as professor.
Staff behavior standards were the headmaster’s concern. Since the headmaster hadn’t made a move, what was the point of him, a mere elective professor, worrying so much?
Entering the castle, the flames blazed in the Great Hall fireplace, warm air currents dispersing the chill from his body.
February’s spring chill was biting; walking outside felt colder than during heavy snow. The castle interior and exterior were two worlds. Melvin strolled upstairs, occasionally greeting elective class students with a cheerful smile. For fifth-year or seventh-year ones, he reminded them that exams were ten weeks away and to study hard.
At the second-floor corner, he ran into the deputy headmaster coming down. Melvin greeted her smilingly: “Professor McGonagall, handling financial reports again?”
“……”
Professor McGonagall was holding a stack of parchment documents, giving him a stern gaze. Noticing the damp marks on his shoulder and trouser leg, she immediately knew he had returned from outside. “Are you free next week? Come with me to Hogsmeade to settle this quarter’s payments and procure Easter supplies.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“The temperature has been changing quickly lately. Remember to remind students in class to add or remove clothing to avoid getting sick; seasonal flu spreads easily.”
“Yes, Professor.”
Melvin bid farewell to the deputy headmaster and returned to his office, sitting down behind the desk.
His room was fairly tidy, with most items stored in a suitcase. He didn’t assign much written homework, so there was little to grade. The desk was clean, and the wastebasket was piled with balled-up draft papers—discarded script drafts. A bookshelf stood against the wall, holding a small projection mirror with silver mist swirling inside.
The headmaster’s pensieve had been returned.
Melvin poured a cup of hot tea and sat down, opening Nicolas Flamel’s notebook. White steam immediately rose in the room.
「04.24-1527, Paracelsus lecturing in Basel, went to visit. This young alchemist’s skills were exquisite, favoring human transmutation, influenced by ancient Roman wizard thought, firmly believing in the ternary theory. After I showed him the Philosopher’s Stone, he insisted its magic power came from sulfur, mercury, salt…」
Paracelsus was a famous 16th-century alchemist. The Secrecy Law hadn’t been enacted then, and this wizard was renowned in the Muggle world too, leaving many legendary stories.
This page recorded their exchange dialogue, accompanied by an illustration. In the picture, the Swiss alchemist was casting a spell on a necrotic leg—charcoal black, oozing thick yellow-white fluid, like a curse or poisoning. Perhaps due to limited space, Nicolas Flamel hadn’t drawn the leg’s owner.
The lines were fluid, the illustration exquisite, the mineral dye colors stark, unfaded after centuries—and that was it.
The image showed no magical fluctuation; the figure in it wouldn’t move, frozen in one pose.
The text content had no firm conclusions. On Paracelsus’s viewpoint, Nicolas Flamel neither affirmed nor denied it, offering no personal commentary, just briefly and accurately recording it.
Melvin pondered Paracelsus’s ternary theory. Few medieval wizards still clung to ancient magic viewpoints. By Nicolas Flamel’s time, those ideas were outdated, but it had to be admitted that ancient wizards raised on such notions were exceptionally powerful.
Unfortunately, this theory seemed unrelated to exogenous emotional magic power.
Melvin closely examined the adjacent image, leisurely turning the page, without much urgency.
When hearing Nicolas Flamel reveal the truth about magic power and will, Melvin had indeed felt brief panic, but after sorting through his thoughts, he quickly identified what set him apart from those legendary wizards.
The four founders, Merlin, and Herpo—those wizards had passively absorbed exogenous magic power in their youth. They seemed born with the ability and, for a long time after gaining fame, didn’t notice the abnormal growth in magic power until old age, when exogenous will began influencing them.
Melvin himself lacked the talent to absorb exogenous magic power. After receiving the horned serpent’s gift, he noticed it almost immediately and began consciously spreading influence to absorb magic power.
The entire process felt very clear to him; Melvin was certain his self-consciousness hadn’t been affected—at least not yet.
The path ahead was unclear, but he couldn’t shrink back.
After continuously reading dialogues with four alchemists, Melvin set down the notebook, exhaled, waved his hand to summon the projection mirror before him, and continued his editing work.
The film’s main body was nearly complete; only some details needed fine-tuning, like whether to cut the story’s final segment or reveal Voldemort in the film… He worried about causing panic and stimulating the Ministry of Magic’s sensitive nerves.
……
The snow gradually melted, the cold began to recede, and the weather warmed up.
Late February.
In the office.
Melvin sat by the window, holding the ancient notebook, turning to the last page.
A blank, reddish page with no message or any instructions; the entire notebook was thus read. Melvin had thought there might be special content or hidden magical changes, but nothing.
All signs indicated it was just an ordinary dialogue record, documenting Nicolas Flamel’s visits to 71 wizards from different eras for conversations—spanning six hundred years total: 57 in the first three hundred, only 14 in the latter three hundred, one of whom was Dumbledore.
The dialogues were mostly with wizards, but snippets mentioned Muggles too.
Nicolas Flamel’s life seemed conveyed through these records. In his first three hundred relatively robust years, he traveled the world, actively seeking ancient magic relics and eagerly conversing with residents of different regions. As his body aged, his thirst for uncovering truth waned—or rather, he no longer obsessed over it.
Melvin felt those images hid secrets, but he had no clue yet on how to unlock them.
Closing the notebook, Melvin stretched lazily. He couldn’t help glancing out the window: early spring sunlight carried a faint warmth, wild grass was sprouting on the grounds, and a dozen broomsticks hovered over the Quidditch pitch.
Estimating the time, Hagrid’s fire dragon had surely hatched by now—probably already sturdier than Fang.
“Knock knock knock…” Someone knocked on the office door.
Melvin responded: “Come in.”
The wooden door opened, revealing an unexpected face with signature platinum blond hair. Draco’s brows were tightly furrowed; he nervously glanced behind him, cautiously closing the door as if being chased.
“Mr. Malfoy.” Melvin raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.
“Professor Levent, there’s something I want to ask you about.”
