A flash of golden light, and Wade felt a momentary blur. After the peculiar tug of the Portkey, he found himself standing in a dazzling living room.
The space seemed completely filled with books and strange, quirky objects, yet it maintained a certain harmonious order. For a moment, Wade didn't dare move, afraid that simply raising an arm might trigger a domino effect.
"Oh, you're here." Nicolas Flamel's voice came from behind a pile of books. "Apologies, I seem to have lost track of time, because I... Oh, dear!"
The old man let out a cry of pain. Wade tilted his head curiously to peek and saw only a figure flailing behind the stack of books.
He finally found a spot to step and walked over, discovering an old man with silvery-white hair and skin as pale as a ghost wrestling with a silver-engraved teapot.
The teapot angrily hopped on the ground, held down by Nicolas Flamel with one hand. But its lid suddenly flew up and aimed for his nose, only to be easily deflected by a Spell.
The falling lid spun around and hit Flamel's finger. Wade clearly heard a crisp *crack*.
The stunned Wade immediately snapped back to reality and quickly pointed his Wand: "Immobulus!"
The teapot instantly stopped moving, and the lid, which had been preparing for another attack, also clattered to the floor. Nicolas Flamel picked it up and, along with the teapot, stuffed them into a box.
"Finally handled. I never thought... a teapot would ambush me someday..."
Flamel clutched his waist, struggling to stand up from the floor. Wade quickly reached out to help him.
He didn't dare use too much force, as the arm in his hand felt as brittle as a corn chip, as if it might break with the slightest carelessness.
"Thank you, my boy," Flamel said in a low, hoarse voice. "Welcome to my home, though most things here have a temper. You need to... oh, you need to be careful."
As he spoke, he used his uninjured hand to rub circles on his injured finger. Then Wade watched as the somewhat deformed finger returned to normal.
Wade raised an eyebrow slightly.
That finger had looked like its bone was broken, yet not a single drop of blood had flowed out, and there seemed to be no internal bleeding in the soft tissue beneath the skin.
Nicolas Flamel was now 664 years old. Though still alive, his body had become extremely fragile due to the erosion of time, truly resembling a dry stick of firewood.
His immortality didn't look beautiful at all; it looked more like a curse.
Wade didn't show what he was thinking. He simply helped Flamel sit down and asked curiously, "This teapot must be your own creation, right? It actually attacks you?"
"Things with thoughts will have their own tempers; they can't unconditionally and consistently love their creator."
Flamel sighed, "Of course, I can't blame it. The main thing is that I kept it locked up for too long... I put it in a box when I moved before, and then accidentally forgot about it... forgot for about two hundred years, perhaps?"
Wade was speechless.
Anyone who had been confined for two hundred years would certainly be furious—even a teapot was no exception.
He now felt that the lid merely breaking one of Flamel's fingers was quite polite.
"Please, have a seat, have a seat. I apologize for you seeing the house in such disarray—I've been tidying up recently."
Flamel pulled out his Wand and waved it. The clutter piled throughout the room instantly squeezed against the walls, clearing a small space in the center. Then a chair flung off the thick leather books weighing it down and hopped over to Wade's side.
Wade was bumped by the chair and involuntarily sat down. He then took out the gift he had prepared beforehand and said, "Mr. Flamel, this is a small gift I made myself. I hope you like it."
"Oh?"
Nicolas Flamel took the wooden box with interest, gently pushed open the lid, and saw a slender Quill lying on the black velvet lining.
"A Quill?"
"I've recently been learning various Magic Quill crafting methods with Professor Murray. This is one of the results of my studies."
Wade smiled and said, "It's nothing remarkable, just a simple little toy."
He leaned closer to Flamel and explained, "I used the feather from a Swooping Evil's head, the teeth of a Fwooper, and Moonstone Powder, Devil's Snare spores, and Mandrake sap. Of course, the most important thing is the Daydream Charm."
"As long as you write a general description on paper, for example, 'a palace with countless delicacies,' the writer can enter the corresponding daydream, lasting from one to thirty minutes."
"When you want to exit the dream, just say 'This isn't real,' and you can wake up from the daydream."
The Daydream Charm had existed for a long time; it wasn't Wade's original invention. Casting the Spell alone could also induce an absolutely realistic daydream, but the content was somewhat uncontrollable.
For instance, some people might want to enter a dream of flirting with a beautiful woman, but halfway through the dream, the beauty might suddenly turn into a skeleton, then into a muscular Barbie, and finally the dream's owner would wake up startled while being chased by a Fire Crab.
People cannot control their subconscious, and thus cannot control dreams where fantasies materialize.
Wade's Quill made the uncontrollable daydream more specific, more "as you wish."
"Oh... an interesting idea." Nicolas Flamel said with a smile. "Very suitable for zoning out when class is boring."
"As I said, it's just a toy," Wade laughed. "But if used for studying, you can review books you've read in the dream, or memorize a large amount of content in a short time."
"May I try it?" Flamel asked, holding the pen.
"Of course." Wade gestured with his hand.
Nicolas Flamel casually pulled out a piece of parchment, gripped the pen, and tremblingly wrote a line on it. Wade averted his gaze, not peering at what daydream Flamel was creating for himself.
The Daydream Quill didn't require dipping in ink; it already had a full cartridge of ink stored inside. When the ink ran out, the Quill would become ineffective.
However, the Quill given to Nicolas Flamel also had an Undetectable Extension Charm inside, allowing it to store enough potion to fill a beer mug, which would last a very long time.
After Nicolas Flamel put a period, the words on the parchment glowed faintly, then suddenly flew off the paper like a swarm of fireflies, fluttering towards Flamel's head, and disappearing as specks of starlight.
Flamel leaned back in the armchair, his head slightly lowered, eyes half-open and half-closed, as if in a daze. In reality, he had entered the daydream he had woven for himself.
A few minutes later, he murmured, "This isn't real."
Then, Flamel gave a jolt and woke up from the dream.
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