Chapter 127: When Enemies Meet
They had considered all sorts of possible reactions, especially since Harry was just a child, but this was the one thing Ryan and Dumbledore had not anticipated. Even after it happened, they still didn't understand. What exactly was the meaning behind Harry suddenly throwing up?
Could it be a sudden illness?
Probably not. Harry ate well, slept well, and was in excellent shape. Although he had been small and skinny at the start of the term, the good food and drink had filled him out. Among his year-mates, his physical prowess was now about average, if not slightly above. Besides, this was Hogwarts; students within the castle were protected by its magic, making sudden, severe illnesses extremely rare. A minor flu was the most one could expect from natural causes. If an external force was involved, however, that was another story.
Or perhaps he thinks Dumbledore is a useless, incompetent Headmaster, Ryan speculated with irresponsible malice, a thought that sprang entirely from his subconscious instinct for usurpation. It was only subconscious because, with the wizarding world in such turmoil, he genuinely believed it was best to let the experienced old comrade continue to shine. In fact, it would be ideal if the old comrade could keep working for a few more years, then transition into the role of "Headmaster Emeritus" and work for another hundred.
What's that? Hogwarts doesn't have a "Headmaster Emeritus" position? Well, that just shows a lack of creative thinking. No position? We can create one! No resources? We can create them! These were not problems! After all, if Ryan himself were to take over and cause a massive screw-up on his first day, that would be a real disaster. If that happened, he, who had already suffered social death on Earth, would have to start seriously considering the Mars colonization plan.
The magical world, the Statute of Secrecy... things were never progressing as neatly as he had planned. He had no idea what kind of mess was going to erupt in Paris this weekend. The more Ryan thought, the more his mind drifted.
"Scourgify. Are you alright, Harry?" Dumbledore flicked his wand, vanishing the mess and tidying the area.
"I'm fine, Headmaster. It's just... the thought of being connected to Voldemort is disgusting." Harry took a couple of deep breaths to quell the churning in his stomach, but the images he had just imagined kept replaying in his mind, making him feel worse and worse.
"That's understandable," Dumbledore said. "The name Voldemort is reviled by all. To have a connection to such a person is indeed an unpleasant thing to contemplate." Dumbledore, temporarily switching to the role of guidance counselor, offered some words of comfort.
The counseling was a great success. Harry was convinced. He began to imagine how he could be the best possible assistant in the Voldemort research experiments. He would be rational, patient, and obedient, a dedicated contributor to a better future.
"Voldemort, you old thief! You killed my family! Heaven has finally opened its eyes today—now give me your life!"
The moment he stepped through the door, the person who was just now resolving to be calm transformed into a roaring lion, charging straight for the seal containing Voldemort.
"No need to be so emotional! Relax, relax," Ryan said, quickly grabbing Harry to prevent him from trying to punch a soul with his bare fists.
Harry struggled, but it was like an iron hoop had been clamped around him, leaving him no room to move. He was instantly reminded of Neville and the Strengthening Charm. Sometimes, in the common room, Fred and George would be sent flying by a single punch from Neville, or knocked flat by a simple shove. The feeling they must have had then was probably what he was feeling now.
He calmed down, mainly because he couldn't move.
"Come, let me introduce you to the seniors who captured Voldemort," Ryan said, keeping a firm grip on Harry. When he saw that Harry had settled a bit, he began the introductions to the other powerful figures in the room.
"This is Mr. Nicolas Flamel, my teacher and the greatest alchemist in the wizarding world."
Harry, still held in place, felt the old gentleman's name was familiar, but right now, only his body had regained its senses. His brain was completely offline, his IQ having failed to occupy the high ground. He couldn't remember a thing. He could only manage a polite greeting. "Hello, Mr. Nicolas Flamel. My name is Harry Potter."
"And this is Mr. Dumbledore's—bosom buddy. The kind of friend who couldn't possibly be any closer. You can just call him Mr. Gellert," Ryan said, pulling Harry over to meet Gellert.
"Hello, Mr. Gellert." Although Harry had never heard of Dumbledore having such a close friend, nor had he ever seen him on a Chocolate Frog Card, he trusted Ryan. He respectfully greeted the old wizard.
"And of course, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick need no introduction from me," Ryan said, motioning for Harry to greet them.
"Headmaster, Professor, hello," Harry did as he was told.
The whole process felt less like Dumbledore recruiting a new member for a research group and more like Big Brother Ryan leading his underling Harry to pay respects to the bosses of a mountain stronghold. The style was a bit off, but it achieved the goal of a first introduction.
"A very polite boy," Nicolas Flamel said with a smile, beckoning him over. "Albus has told me about you. Come, let me have a look."
Harry felt a hand push him gently from behind. He went with the force, taking two steps forward until he stood before the supergroup of legendary wizards. As he steadied himself, he didn't forget his manners. "Thank you for your trouble, sir." He was so polite partly because he was a good kid by nature, and partly because these were the people who had captured Voldemort. To him, they had avenged him. He owed them a great debt. Harry was genuinely grateful.
"—Hmm, there is indeed a connection," Nicolas Flamel said, parting Harry's hair and pressing a finger to the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes, like an ordinary person trying to see something in the distance. But for this to come from Nicolas Flamel seemed illogical.
Harry only felt the pressure from the ancient, cold finger on his forehead suddenly increase.
That thought was immediately replaced by the sensation of the finger itself. Being touched by it was like coming into contact with solidified, decaying time, or opening a long-sealed, frigid cellar and feeling the bone-chilling cold of history's wind. The feeling seemed to seep through the scar, into his skin, extending into the muscle tissue, winding its way down through his flesh, around his skull, and touching the soft, wrinkled surface of his cerebral cortex.
Harry suddenly shivered.
"Ryan," Nicolas Flamel said at that moment.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Why don't you take Harry outside for a chat? Help the boy relax. Albus and the others and I need to do some prep work," Flamel said, withdrawing his hand.
Is that necessary? Yes, it's absolutely necessary! Ryan instantly realized his teacher had discovered something extraordinary about Harry. He stepped forward and pulled Harry back. "Alright. I'll take Harry out for a bite to eat. Just contact me on the Communicator when you're ready?"
"Yes, go on," Flamel said with a wave.
The moment Ryan had led Harry out of the room, Dumbledore immediately asked, "What did you find?"
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