Chapter 97: A Small Wager
"The six points are the key," Dumbledore said, his brow still furrowed with puzzlement. "It's not like any normal six-pointed magical array."
The array they had found was three-dimensional. Four of the magical nodes were arranged in a square on the horizontal plane of the water's surface, while the other two were positioned directly above and below the island, forming a perfect octahedron.
"An octahedron..." Nicolas Flamel pictured the formation in his mind. In all his centuries of study, he had never encountered an alchemical array of this type. Normally, arrays were constructed on a single plane for stability. A three-dimensional, octahedral array would be incredibly volatile, unsuitable for creating a finished product. At best, it could be used to imbue an object with a specific, unstable property.
"Perhaps the array you saw was not the one used to forge the dagger," Flamel concluded. "It must have been a later addition." He then asked, "Did you find out who used it to commit the massacre?"
"According to our findings," Dumbledore said with a sigh, "the dagger acted on its own."
"It's sentient?" Flamel asked. Sentient alchemical creations were not unheard of, but a sentient weapon was a rarity. What sane alchemist would give their weapon a mind of its own? Was it supposed to offer tactical advice in the middle of a duel?
"We're not sure," Gellert said, speaking to Flamel for the first time. "A creation of this level is beyond our expertise. We need your judgment."
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the spiral staircase, and the door to the Headmaster's office swung open.
"So my theory was correct," Ryan said, walking in as if he owned the place. "This will be the perfect answer to the question Master Flamel posed to me." He then noticed the unfamiliar old man sitting in Dumbledore's chair. "You must be Mr. Gellert. I've heard so much about you."
"You have?" Gellert asked with a wry, knowing smile.
"I have," Ryan said honestly. He could understand, if not condone, the actions of a man who had fought, however misguidedly, for the future of his people. And since that man was now one of the wizarding world's most powerful defenders, it was best to stay on his good side.
"Your student is a bold one," Gellert remarked to Dumbledore.
"What was the theory you mentioned?" Dumbledore asked, pointedly ignoring Gellert.
"It's like the Philosopher's Stone," Ryan said, walking over to the desk and picking up the dagger. "I could never understand where its immense power came from. And this dagger... the moment I entered the room, I felt a chilling sensation, as if a blade were at my throat. That's because it has been imbued with the very concept of slaughter."
"The Philosopher's Stone is the same," he continued, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and excitement. "When Master Flamel created it, he didn't just transmute matter. He harnessed a concept—the collective desire of all intelligent life for immortality, the yearning to turn stone into gold—and infused it into the Stone itself."
The realization was staggering. The greatest alchemical creations were not just about the exchange of matter for matter; they involved the manipulation of abstract concepts. This explained so much, even the existence of something as reality-bending as a Time-Turner. If the Stone's power was derived from a concept, then it existed on a plane beyond the purely physical, a plane where the linear flow of time might not apply.
"Thanks to Master Flamel's library," Ryan said, "my own understanding of magic, and even my own magical core, has taken a quantum leap."
"This dagger has been imbued with the concept of slaughter." He held his finger close to the blade, not quite touching it. A thin red line appeared on his skin, and he felt his strength begin to drain away. It was a tiny cut, but it felt more debilitating than a mortal wound.
"Not to worry," he said confidently, taking a vial of dittany from his ring. "I have something for this."
Nicolas Flamel looked away, a pained expression on his face. "You know it's been imbued with the concept of slaughter," he said, "and you think dittany will work?"
Ryan looked down at his finger. The wound was not closing. Blood continued to well up, dripping onto the floor. A flicker of panic went through him. He had underestimated the power of a conceptually-charged artifact. Of course, he thought, that's why the Elder Wand is known as the unbeatable wand.
He began to cycle through the various healing spells he had learned, while simultaneously downing several blood-replenishing potions to keep from passing out.
The three old men watched him, amused. "How long do you think it will take him to dispel the killing intent?" Flamel asked.
"Perhaps ten minutes," Dumbledore said.
"I like this boy. I say five minutes. Care to make a wager?" Gellert proposed.
"What are the stakes?"
"A unique, self-created spell?"
"Done," Dumbledore agreed.
"I'll take seven minutes," Flamel added.
They all chuckled. If any other student had been injured by such a weapon, it would have been a full-blown emergency. But this was Ryan. His own magical skill was more than sufficient for him to heal himself, and he was far more durable than an ordinary student. And even if he failed, the three of them could intervene at the last moment without any lasting consequences.
Healing spells are useless, Ryan thought, his mind racing. This is a curse, not a cut. He began to experiment with the various counter-curses he had collected. A series of faint lights flashed at his fingertip. The wound didn't close, but he could feel the rate of his energy drain begin to slow.
He glanced up at the clock, then at the three old wizards. "I'd like to place a bet as well," he said with a grin. "I bet myself. One minute."
~~~
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