"I know you're fine. I held back. What I'm asking is whether there's something wrong with your head."
Midgard pressed Leonard's head with a serious expression. "You haven't gone crazy, have you?"
"Get lost." Leonard rolled his eyes. "I just misjudged my own abilities."
"Abilities? What abilities?" Midgard asked, intrigued.
Leonard didn't hide anything. He gave a brief explanation, focusing on how he had believed that creatures of nature couldn't harm him, so wizards shouldn't be able to either.
"How can you lump wizards together with animals? Your ability probably just means you can't be harmed by animals or magical creatures."
Midgard actually found Leonard's line of thinking rather odd.
"Maybe." Leonard shrugged.
If that was the case, he wondered whether he could resist a Basilisk's deadly gaze.
Did a Basilisk count as a natural creature?
Probably. Even if it was hatched from a toad's egg, it was still an egg-laying creature, after all.
...
For Leonard, every year at Hogwarts felt like playing through a game, with the main storyline revolving around Harry Potter and his various adventures.
But Leonard was not a side character in that story. He didn't act according to the main plot's script. He had his own main quests: developing the Botanical Garden, researching magic, and building good relationships with the professors.
And when Leonard's own storyline conflicted with Harry Potter's…
He showed absolutely no restraint. He flipped the table and stirred things up without hesitation.
Quirrell's death was a perfect example. Although Quirrell was fated to die, the fact that it happened so much earlier than expected still gave the Hogwarts professors a massive headache.
After all, there was once again no one to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Even that, however, was not the worst of it. What truly troubled everyone was the whereabouts of the Philosopher's Stone.
Everyone believed that Voldemort had taken it. The problem was that once Voldemort had the stone, he would definitely try to brew the Elixir of Life to resurrect himself.
What were they supposed to do if Voldemort returned?
Dumbledore didn't know. Even now, he still hadn't figured out how Voldemort had managed to survive death in the first place.
Inside the Hogwarts Headmaster's office, Dumbledore sat lost in thought, quill in hand, until ink dripped from the tip and snapped him back to reality.
The Philosopher's Stone was gone. He needed to give his old friend, the stone's owner, an explanation.
That friend had trusted him so completely, and yet he had let him down. For Dumbledore, this was no small blow.
More than that, his old friend relied on the Elixir of Life brewed from the Philosopher's Stone to sustain his life. Now that the stone was lost, it meant that his friend's days were numbered.
Before going to see his friend in person, Dumbledore felt it was necessary to write a letter to the Ministry of Magic.
Voldemort's return seemed imminent. If the Ministry did not prepare in advance, they would pay a heavy price.
Dumbledore quickly swapped in a fresh sheet of parchment and finished the letter. He was about to have Fawkes deliver it immediately, but then he paused.
What kind of consequences would this letter bring?
Dumbledore could already foresee them. He knew all too well what sort of person the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, was.
Not only would Fudge refuse to believe the contents of the letter, he might even react excessively.
For years, Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts had failed to provide students with adequate knowledge because of constant issues with the professors. Meanwhile, the Ministry kept complaining that the magic students were learning was too aggressive.
From that alone, it was clear what kind of organization the Ministry had become. They wanted students to turn into obedient, brainless fools who could only babble and comply, all in the name of keeping the entire British wizarding world "stable."
If they heard that Voldemort was about to crawl out of his coffin, wouldn't the Ministry officials led by Cornelius Fudge completely lose their minds?
After a moment's hesitation, Dumbledore set the letter aside for the time being.
He decided to visit his old friend first, hear his thoughts, and then make a decision.
"Fawkes, take me to Devon," Dumbledore said as he summoned the phoenix and spoke softly into its ear.
Gentle flames spilled from Fawkes's body, wrapping around Dumbledore. In the blink of an eye, man and phoenix vanished from the Headmaster's office.
At the same time, in Devon, far from any town and close to the forest, a burst of flame suddenly ignited, and Dumbledore stepped out from within it.
There seemed to be nothing there at all, only a dense wall of trees packed so tightly together that it looked completely impassable.
Dumbledore paid it no mind and walked straight toward the wall. Just as he was about to collide with it, the trees rippled like water and let him pass through.
On the other side, a perfectly ordinary courtyard appeared before him. An elderly man with white hair and beard, dressed in a long white robe, turned around to face Dumbledore.
"Why have you come?" the old man asked weakly as he struggled to his feet. "Is it over?"
"I'm sorry, Nicolas. It isn't over. Or rather, I've failed," Dumbledore said with a sigh.
The frail-looking old man before him was none other than Nicolas Flamel, the legendary greatest alchemist, the only person in the world capable of creating a Philosopher's Stone.
"Failed?" Nicolas Flamel said in astonishment. "That's hard to imagine. I always thought you never failed. Was the Philosopher's Stone stolen by that man?"
"Yes." Dumbledore nodded heavily. "I'm very sorry."
"There's no need to apologize. After all, I was the one who entrusted the Philosopher's Stone to you. My original suggestion was to destroy it outright, but you said you needed it for something," Nicolas Flamel said, shaking his head. "I've lived long enough. There's no need to mourn for me."
With that, Nicolas Flamel turned around. "Come inside. Sit down and have some tea. Chances like this won't come around many more times."
Dumbledore followed Nicolas Flamel into the house in silence and took a seat.
A tea set drifted unsteadily over from the distance to settle in front of Dumbledore, and a kettle floated over to hover at the side.
"What would you like to drink? Milk tea again?" Nicolas Flamel asked.
"Milk tea, then. My tastes haven't changed," Dumbledore replied.
"I'm not the same. I always like to try something different," Nicolas Flamel said, lifting his hand. The teapot poured out rich, fragrant milk tea, filling the cup in front of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore took a sip, and the sweetness of the tea made him let out a long, quiet breath.
Nicolas Flamel waved his hand again, and the teapot poured out a bowl of clear tea for himself. After taking a sip, he looked at Dumbledore. "Go on. What did you come to see me for?"
"I want to look at the prophecy," Dumbledore said.
"The prophecy?" Nicolas Flamel asked gravely. "About what?"