The young wizard wasn't the only one who could sense this; even Dumbledore glanced at Flamel with a faintly helpless smile.
"Nicolas, calm yourself. We still don't have any solid evidence." Leave it to the old headmaster, as even faced with such an explosive revelation, his emotions hardly wavered.
He remained calm, rational.
Those were Albus Dumbledore's greatest traits when confronting nearly anything. Except, on rare occasions, when it came to Ariana.
In response to Dumbledore's words—
"But Ian's intuition has always been reliable, hasn't it?" Nicolas Flamel had great faith in Ian. After all, an outstanding alchemist must possess sharp intuition.
In this case, Flamel's instincts told him that Ian was right. This was why the master alchemist now fixed his burning gaze on the boy, his face lit with excitement.
"Well then, little one, how do you think we should test this theory?" He asked while rubbing his hands together as though ready to confront that first-year new student immediately.
Ian pondered for a moment before speaking. "If Lirim is really Merlin, he certainly wouldn't expose himself so easily. But we have enough means to force him to reveal his true form."
His tone carried firm conviction.
However—
"Do we truly have such means?" Nicolas Flamel's clouded eyes showed nothing but confusion. He glanced at the alchemical items scattered nearby but found nothing that could affect a legendary wizard.
After all, he had never studied artifacts like that before. Had he not joined Hogwarts this year, he wouldn't have believed that Legendary Wizards could still exist in an era of dwindling magic.
"Uh..."
Ian turned his head and saw that Headmaster Dumbledore was also watching him closely.
"So, I'm the one with the means to make him reveal his true self?"
He corrected his earlier phrasing. Dumbledore did not ask what sort of means those might be. He only toyed idly with his old wand and spoke in a soft voice.
"Go to him, Ian."
The old headmaster's tone was calm, but the way he handled his wand carried a weight that was hard to ignore. Even the greatest white wizard of the century was clearly not untouched beneath the surface.
Everyone has their pride.
Perhaps Albus Dumbledore also longed to learn from Merlin about magic. Or rather, that was the humble way to put it. Ian could feel the old headmaster's surging vitality.
"All right, Professor."
Ian carefully put away the ancient Time-Turner. He was just about to turn and leave when Nicolas Flamel suddenly called out to him.
"Wait a moment!"
As he spoke, Flamel hurried over to his pile of alchemical works and began rummaging through them. Ian paused, puzzled, and looked at him.
Ian expected Flamel to produce a powerful magical item. Instead, though, the master alchemist pulled a delicate glass bottle from an unwashed set of discarded robes.
Holding the bottle, Flamel carefully pressed its mouth against the hem of Ian's robes. Immediately, magical fluctuations rippled at the contact point.
"What is this?" Ian asked curiously.
He watched as countless tiny particles streamed into the bottle.
"There's rainwater on your robes from over a thousand years ago," Nicolas Flamel explained, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "I want to collect some samples to study the composition of the rainfall from that time period. This is a rare opportunity! Not only will we be able to understand the ancient environment, but we can also pinpoint the exact dates of Merlin's era!"
Flamel's voice trembled with unhidden enthusiasm as he spoke.
Ian shook his head helplessly and sighed inwardly. Truly worthy of an alchemy master's obsession with detail and thirst for knowledge, and equally worthy of the kind of boredom only a centuries-old man could have.
Perhaps—
Neither Ian nor Nicolas Flamel nor the cunningly perceptive Albus Dumbledore realized what that little vial of rainwater Ian had brought back truly meant.
The change it would bring—
No one could ever predict.
…
Nicolas Flamel carefully stored the vial of rainwater collected from the past.
Ian led the two elders toward the Ravenclaw common room.
The sun had not yet risen, and Hogwarts was silent. The stillness was broken only by the occasional birdsong outside and the echoing rhythm of their footsteps.
Ian walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, guiding them to Ravenclaw House.
His curiosity got the better of him.
"Shouldn't we call the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Truthfully, Ian was curious about Grindelwald's situation, but this roundabout way of probing was too clumsy.
Of course, Dumbledore understood what he meant. But the old headmaster did not answer directly. He only smiled faintly, a trace of complexity flickering in his eyes.
"When he returns, you'll know."
This evasive reply sent Ian's thoughts racing. However, it wasn't something he could press further.
Soon, the three of them arrived at the Ravenclaw common room. The space was filled with a tranquil, mysterious atmosphere; pale-blue chandeliers cast a soft glow over the neatly arranged bookshelves and comfortable sofas.
It was still early morning, and the sun had not yet risen so the room was empty.
They passed the couches and bookshelves of the lounge and the statue of Lady Ravenclaw on their way to the dormitory area. Most students were still asleep at this hour, yet Ian could sense faint sounds of pages turning and whispered voices from several rooms. Clearly, the Ravenclaw students had already begun their relentless "self-competition" day.
Occasionally, faint magical light seeped out from beneath the doors.
"It's good to be back."
Ian stopped at the door to his dormitory and briefly sensed the atmosphere inside.
As expected, Michael was still snoring soundly while William was already at his desk, buried in study. Ian did not disturb them. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Lirim's dormitory door.
"Ready?"
Ian whispered, his wand already gripped tightly in hand.
Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel exchanged a glance, but neither drew their wands. Dumbledore seemed about to knock on the door, but Ian had his own judgment.
No one understood Merlin the King of Wizards better than he did! If they startled Merlin, he would vanish in an instant. Though their interactions had been brief, Ian was certain he had grasped the nature of this wizard king!
And so, he swung his wand directly and murmured, "Alohomora."
The spell, reinforced with extra charms, worked flawlessly.
The dormitory door clicked open.
In the dim light, it looked as though someone were sleeping in the bed.
But at that very moment—
Ian was just about to speak to the two elders when he suddenly noticed drastic changes to Nicolas Flamel's and Dumbledore's faces. The next second, both of them, heedless of appearances, hurriedly retreated toward the doorway.
"What's going on?"
Ian's instincts lagged by half a beat.
It was as though some kind of interference had dulled him, just as an ominous premonition welled up inside him.
The next instant—
"Crash!"
The ceiling split wide open.
Water poured down, not pure, but murky and yellow, surging like a flood. Its color resembled silted torrents, a yellow current crashing down like a waterfall.
"Good morning, Ian." A venomous and sinister voice echoed through the room.
At least, that's how it sounded to Ian.
"Two thousand years of accumulation... Can you withstand it?"
That day—
Perhaps Hogwarts was no longer pure.
(End of chapter.)
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