"Hmm…" Dumbledore nodded softly, his brilliant blue eyes shining. "It's wonderful that you understand this!"
"Actually, there's something else I'd like to try…" Wyzett said, drawing his wand.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, could you provide some flour, eggs, milk, and butter? And if you have any Gurdyroot, even better!"
"Of course, that's no trouble at all!" Dumbledore tapped the desk, and within moments, every ingredient appeared neatly on the tabletop.
"I've always wanted to recreate the taste of that bread. Maybe that's why I've failed so far…" Wyzett murmured, gazing at the ingredients.
"After returning from the mirror world, I realized—no one's experiences are exactly the same. That's why I can never truly replicate the flavor of that bread."
"What I should do is draw from my own experiences, and create a flavor uniquely my own. A spell that belongs to me alone…"
"Wingardium Leviosa—flour, rise and dance on high; milk, butter, eggs, gather nigh—swiftly summoned, blend and bind…"
With a wave of his wand, the ingredients floated up, swirling together in the air and slowly forming a dough.
"Shape the dough as heart desires, spinning round in magic gyres; Gurdyroot, emerald bright, lend your essence, flavor's light…"
The dough's color grew more uniform as it twisted and stretched beneath the magic. Bits of Gurdyroot glimmered like emeralds within.
Wyzett felt something wonderful—a sense of perfect ease. The magic flowed through him; the words of the spell came naturally, without hesitation or awkwardness.
Once the dough was fully formed, he raised his wand high. The dough soared and tumbled through the air—at times like a reckless Bludger, at times as nimble as a Golden Snitch.
Dumbledore's eyes sparkled with delight, a warm smile on his face as he watched the dough's aerial dance.
"Headmaster Dumbledore, could you help me with the next part?" Wyzett wiped sweat from his brow. The dough, under the spell's influence, was swelling larger and larger.
"Do you want me to light the fire?" Dumbledore's voice turned unexpectedly hoarse, his eyes losing focus as if lost in memory. "I… do I have that honor?"
Wyzett beamed. "Headmaster Dumbledore, surely it's me who should feel honored to ask for your help. After all, you were the first person in this world to help me…"
"Everything I've gained this year, I owe to the professors. Without all of you, I'd never have learned so much magic."
"Very well! It would be my pleasure!" Dumbledore gave a graceful bow, his manner impeccable.
He flicked his wand, conjuring a beautiful orange flame that wrapped around the swelling dough.
The dough seemed to transform like a phoenix reborn, stretching and expanding within the fire, undergoing a magical metamorphosis.
All the memories of the year shimmered in the flames, purifying into something even more heartfelt.
As the crust grew crisp, a chorus of "crack, crack" filled the room, and the rich scent of scallions drifted through the fire, filling the entire office.
A sudden sense of inspiration washed over Wyzett. As he continued casting, the words came unbidden: "Let curse and malice burn away, and leave the soul in purest state…"
...
Around the office, the portraits of former headmasters all stirred awake.
They, too, seemed to catch the scent of scallions, their eyes full of curiosity as they watched the two wizards baking bread.
"What on earth has happened at Hogwarts?" demanded a headmaster with a mane of black hair and a goatish beard. "The Headmaster of Hogwarts—baking bread?"
"How can he do a house-elf's work? Has the school really fallen so far? Unbelievable! It'd be better to let our family—"
"Phineas Black, do be quiet!" interrupted a nearby witch. "Aren't you the least bit surprised? Don't you smell that bread?"
"Dilys Derwent, what are you talking about? We can't possibly—" Phineas Black began to retort, then stopped, his expression shifting. "How can this be…"
"We can sense flavors on the level of the soul," Dilys Derwent said softly. "This year's Hogwarts has produced a truly remarkable student."
"Hmph! In my day, Hogwarts had its own… remarkable students!" Phineas Black huffed, unwilling to be outdone.
"Right, right, go on then!" Dilys replied, as if coaxing a stubborn child to take their medicine.
"Hmph!" Phineas snorted again, gave the bread one last, conflicted look, and vanished from his frame.
...
The aroma of scallions grew so intense that even Fawkes, who usually dined only on herbs and berries, swooped down above the flames, his bright eyes brimming with curiosity.
"Let flavors weave a poet's spell, unique and true, with feeling dwell!"
As Wyzett finished the last line, Dumbledore let the flames die away at just the right moment.
A loaf of bread hovered in the air, its crust a crisp, amber shell—utterly mouthwatering.
The scent made Wyzett's stomach rumble. After fighting in the mirror world, learning from Salazar Slytherin, and now returning to the headmaster's office to bake bread…
He hadn't eaten or drunk a thing. Now, with the bread's aroma swirling around him, hunger struck with sudden force.
"That's my fault!" Dumbledore laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not myself tonight… I even forgot to offer you a sweet."
With a gentle flick of his hand, a plate appeared on the table. The floating bread glided over and was sliced into several generous pieces.
"Go on, eat! This is your masterpiece. Such skillful household magic—you've learned a great deal from Aberforth."
Wyzett nodded, tearing the bread a bit roughly, scattering golden crumbs across the table.
The mingled scents of wheat, scallion, and a hint of sweetness filled the air. From this bread, he tasted something that truly felt like home.
There was no doubt—the magical bread was a success.
It still couldn't quite match Aberforth's legendary loaf, but it had a flavor all his own.
This experience brought Wyzett a step closer to understanding the soul—a rare gift indeed.
"There's plenty more—take your time, don't rush." Dumbledore's voice was gentle as he pushed over a cup of tea and a few Fizzing Whizzbees.
He seemed to have come to a realization, his tone deepening. "Actually, I invited you here tonight hoping you'd look into the Mirror of Erised—to see if you could awaken its magic."
"But I never expected… that I'd step out at just the wrong moment, and Fawkes would open the door for you… Sometimes, life is just a string of 'coincidences'—each one making things a little more complicated…"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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