The candlelight flickered, and the shadows on the wall swayed with it—like the sudden trembling of Wade's heartstrings.
He unconsciously tightened his grip on the feather quill in his hand, and said with a slightly trembling voice: "I... I don't understand, sir… the gift you mentioned—what exactly do you mean?"
It wasn't that he truly didn't understand— It was just that the "surprise" was so enormous, so sudden, that Wade couldn't help but wonder if there was some hidden danger behind it, something he hadn't yet discovered.
Aside from the love of his parents, Wade had never believed he could receive anything without earning it.
Whether it was the appreciation and care from elders, respect and praise from his peers, or the admiration of house-elves—it had always come from his own efforts, his initiative to show his worth, bit by bit.
He still hadn't forgotten that night out on the windowsill platform, trapped in the cold wind— When to avoid being discovered by Voldemort, he'd endured the slow, tightening fear of an invisible noose closing around his neck.
So in this very moment, faced with a "great blessing" that had dropped out of nowhere and landed squarely on his head, Wade didn't feel joy or excitement.
His first reaction was wariness, as if a chill had silently crawled up his spine.
"My books, my notes… and of course, my private collection room."
Flamel, mistaking Wade's silence for being overwhelmed with happiness, smiled gently. Even his eyes held a warm, kind glow.
"Albus is carrying far too many burdens. The passion he had for alchemy in his youth was replaced by… other things, many years ago."
"At first, I thought I'd just leave my writings to be part of the Hogwarts library. Perhaps, many years from now, some child might open them with curiosity and step into the world of alchemy."
"But then Albus recommended you to me."
"He said… rather than waiting for someone who might never come, why not choose the finest and youngest alchemist of the present?"
"Dear Wade, before I even sent you the invitation, I had already heard much about you from Albus… Every one of your inventions—I've studied and examined them."
"I must say, they show great creativity. But what delighted me even more was the passion and reverence for alchemy that I saw reflected in your work."
"I'm nearing the end of my life, Wade. But if someone like you can inherit my research, then I'll leave with no regrets."
Wade felt a rush of heat surge through his body—his face, limbs, everything seemed to burn like fire. His heart pounded wildly, his eardrums buzzed, and he even felt a little dizzy.
He knew he should accept immediately.
But what escaped his lips instead was: "Sir, I… I don't know what to say. This is just too much…"
"There's no need to answer now, child." Flamel smiled with gentle understanding. "I know—sometimes, an unexpected gift can feel overwhelming, like being pushed to the edge of a cliff."
Wade was not even a fraction of Nicolas Flamel's age. To Flamel, every sign of immaturity or inexperience in the boy before him was simply a reflection of his youth—like a fledgling bird, still naïve and unpolished, untouched by the wear and tear of the world.
In fact, it was precisely this quality that made Flamel like him even more.
"Come with me, Wade," Flamel said, turning around. "Let me show you what you'll be inheriting."
Wade instinctively followed, stepping quickly—so quickly that he almost stepped on Flamel's shoes.
It was clear that Flamel was trying his best to walk briskly, but what was "fast" for him meant Wade had to slow down just to avoid overtaking him.
Fortunately, Flamel's collection room wasn't far.
In fact, he headed straight for a massive mechanical pendulum clock standing in the corner.
The clock's main body was crafted from dark walnut wood, with brass edges fitted into the corners. Its face was a golden hue, ringed with finely etched markings, and its copper hands moved with steady strength.
At the top of every hour, the clock's chime hammer would strike copper tubes, producing a melodious sound. If someone approached, the clock would even cheerfully announce the time—and occasionally ask for help dusting off the top of its head.
Wade had stayed here for a few days now, and he saw this clock daily. Like much of the furniture in wizarding households, it seemed enchanted—but only mildly.
Now, as Flamel approached, the clock cheerfully said: "Good evening, Mr. Flamel. It is now 9:21 PM. The night sky is quite—"
Before the clock could finish, Flamel grasped the minute hand and rotated it twice clockwise, then three times counterclockwise. He then tapped his wand on a sequence of numbers: 6651382.
With a crisp click, the brass clock casing slowly opened, and Wade held his breath—nearly forgetting to let his heart beat.
Just like his own wardrobe space, Nicolas Flamel's collection room was concealed behind the inner space of the clock.
It was a vast hall. Thousands upon thousands of bookshelves stretched from the floor all the way to the domed ceiling. Countless books, scrolls, and manuscripts were piled in dense layers, creating a breathtaking and overwhelming sight.
In addition, some shelves held sealed boxes with unknown purposes, each inscribed with magical runes that glowed softly under the illumination of enchanted orbs.
"Merlin's beard…"
Wade couldn't help but whisper in awe, momentarily speechless.
It felt like this collection room could fulfill over half of everything Wade had ever wanted in his life.
"I've been trying to organize all of this," Flamel said, "but the workload turned out to be even bigger than I imagined. I'm afraid I won't be able to finish it, so the rest… I'll have to leave it to you."
Flamel walked slowly through the shelves with Wade, casually picking up a scroll, unrolling it for a quick glance, then rolling it back up.
"Ah, ancient alchemy texts… Honestly, most of the content is outdated—or the creatures mentioned are extinct. Not particularly useful… But since they're the only surviving copies, they still hold some value."
"These books…" Wade asked with reverence, "have you read them all?"
Nicolas Flamel blinked.
"Of course," he said. "If I hadn't carefully vetted them, why would I let them into my collection room? Of course, Perenelle helped me with a good bit of the selection as well."
Wade nodded with a hint of doubt, and his gaze drifted to the far side of the room.
Over there were some shelves wrapped in iron chains. Most of the books were bound with magical locks, and several sealed boxes rested nearby.
"Ah, you noticed…" Flamel said. "Those contain dangerous knowledge—just opening them is risky. I've left them to you, yes, but I hope you'll never open them." His tone was heavy with meaning.
"If they're so dangerous, why not destroy them?" Wade asked, puzzled.
"Because those, too, are part of the wisdom left behind by our predecessors," Flamel said slowly. "They may be perilous, but one day… they might prove useful."
"When would that be?" Wade asked.
"In Norse mythology," Flamel said, "Odin, king of the gods, gouged out one of his eyes and cast it into the well guarded by Mimir to gain supreme wisdom."
He looked at Wade and said, "If one day, you're willing to pay an even greater price than that for a piece of knowledge… only then may you open those books."
A faint chill ran down Wade's spine. Staring at the heavily chained books, he cautiously suppressed his curiosity.
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