"I choose to move forward."
Allen did not hesitate for an instant. Wealth could be acquired through hard work and numerous other avenues, but having come this far, there was no acceptable reason to abandon the quest. He needed to know what ultimate prize Rowena Ravenclaw had truly left behind.
"Game over." The ethereal voice, now sounding final and definitive, echoed through the empty space.
Allen felt a sudden, familiar tightness in his stomach—the sensation of instantaneous magical transport. In the blink of an eye, he found himself standing in what appeared to be a lavishly decorated office. The four walls were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crammed with ancient tomes and scrolls bound with thick, spell-inscribed spines in various foreign languages.
Tables around the room held oddly shaped bottles and jars of varying textures. Along sections of the wall, clear tubes ran, their opaque white contents appearing to be alive—constantly twisting, churning, and subtly seething.
A faint, antique mustiness hung in the air, mixed with the sharp scent of exotic potion ingredients and a strange, putrid tang, creating an aroma that was a curious blend of Snape's dungeon classroom and the Restricted Section of the library.
"Hello, Allen Harris." A solemn, icy voice came from a source not far from Allen.
Allen immediately spun toward the sound, his eyes widening in surprise and recognition.
Behind a massive, circular stone table, carved from an immense block of obsidian and inlaid with glittering sapphires, sat a strikingly graceful, slightly translucent figure. She was extraordinarily beautiful—so breathtakingly magnificent that one almost dared not look directly at her, fearing to harbour any thought of disrespect, or even genuine admiration.
Compared to Allen, she seemed overwhelmingly tall, even sitting down. There were no visible signs of age on her face; the only clue to her longevity lay deep within her eyes. Though half-lidded, her downward gaze contained a sharp, gleaming light, like the tip of a spear reflecting moonlight, yet concealing profound, ancient memories.
Allen recognized her instantly as Rowena Ravenclaw. She bore an uncanny resemblance to the statue in the common room, yet possessed a breathtakingly majestic and lifelike presence.
"You Ravenclaws are truly greedy enough," Rowena Ravenclaw stated again. This time, her voice became ethereal and melodic, like flowing poetry, and she allowed herself slightly longer, more complex sentences. With a casual wave of her hand, she summoned a comfortable chair to the stone table. Allen understood the silent invitation and sat down obediently.
"You, of all people, should be aware of Ravenclaw's selection criteria, Your Grace? Students must possess exceptional intelligence, preferably wisdom, fairness, cunning, knowledge, intense curiosity, and a love of exploration," Allen said, offering a respectful bow of his head. He subtly acknowledged the historical nickname for her House, which literally means "raven's claw" or "crow's claw"—a sly nod to their supposed inherent greed.
Whether she was an academy founder or simply a powerful vestige of magic, Rowena commanded Allen's respect. Moreover, just as he had before her statue, Allen felt an inexplicable, resonant kinship with her.
"As a rival who has progressed this far, I grant you the entitlement to address me as Rowena, or simply Dean," Rowena Ravenclaw said, adjusting her self-appellation without further comment.
"Yes, Headmistress." In Allen's mind, while Rowena Ravenclaw was the founder, the true Headmaster of Ravenclaw was Filius Flitwick. However, given the monumental age difference, addressing her by name felt inappropriate, so Allen opted for the slightly more respectful "Headmistress."
"Since you have come this far, you may claim my treasure after you complete the final assessment." Rowena examined Allen closely, fixing her unnervingly intense gaze upon his face.
"What exactly is the final examination?" Allen asked, his confidence soaring despite the intimidating presence.
Rowena sat back in her chair, staring directly into Allen's eyes. "The final test is to successfully create a Philosopher's Stone—one capable of transmuting base metals into gold and guaranteeing eternal life."
"The Philosopher's Stone?" Allen frowned slightly in confusion. "Please forgive my bluntness, but why would you require the Philosopher's Stone in your current state?" The figure before him was clearly not a living person, or even a typical ghost. She was a refined fragment of her soul, trapped here—a stabilized, self-aware echo of her being, much like a carefully managed Horcrux.
"So, I am merely a remnant of a soul, yet I still crave the Philosopher's Stone for immortality?" Rowena Ravenclaw's voice remained ethereal and utterly impassive.
"My daughter, Helena, stole my crown, and I dispatched the Baron to track her down. They quarreled, and the Baron killed her. While I was aware of a ritual that could restore life, I tragically lacked the essential ingredients required to perform it and resurrect my daughter," Rowena recounted, her voice taking on an unnervingly detached tone.
"Subsequently, I sought the Resurrection Stone, but after delving deep into soul magic, I discovered that the Resurrection Stone could not truly resurrect the dead; it merely summoned a spectral substance—a shade that was more real than a soul but more illusory than a physical body—from the underworld. The Resurrection Stone would thus be meaningless to Helena, who had already become a Ghost on Earth, driven by guilt. She has never dared to come and see me since."
Rowena delivered the tragic story without hesitation. It was clear she had rehearsed this precise answer countless times over the span of a thousand years.
"But it seems you don't need the Philosopher's Stone now…" Allen pressed, still deeply surprised by the revelations.
"True. In fact, I desired to find a long-lasting means of accompaniment for my daughter, but I did not wish to achieve it by permanently becoming a Ghost, thereby forfeiting all future magical possibilities. That is why I conceived of the Philosopher's Stone. Unfortunately, before I could complete the final experiment to precisely determine the final purification temperature…"
Rowena generously disclosed these intimate secrets. "So, I deliberately separated this soul fragment, which carries pieces of my life's work, and designed this elaborate magical statue to guard it."
It was astounding. Rowena Ravenclaw's mastery of soul magic appeared to be on par with her monumental achievements in alchemy.
Allen remembered that even the remnants of Voldemort's soul retained self-awareness and the ability to communicate, but the fragment Rowena Ravenclaw had left behind maintained its cognitive functions, memories, and personality perfectly for nearly a thousand years, appearing utterly unaffected by the split.
"So, Allen, do you accept the challenge? If you can successfully complete the final steps using my notes, my entire accumulated wealth is yours. Otherwise, I will erase your memory of this place and release you." Rowena opened her half-lidded, slightly protruding eyes wide.
Allen suddenly felt a profound sense of exposure, as if even the Occlumency techniques he had practiced would be useless against her gaze.
Acknowledging that the Ravenclaw founder had addressed him by his first name, Allen felt a genuine connection. He opened his hands and tentatively voiced his practical concern: "I can accept the challenge, but I lack the necessary materials."
Rowena did not answer. Instead, she spun a small, crystalline magic ball on the obsidian table three times, counter-clockwise. The wall to Allen's right immediately dissolved, revealing a massive, incredibly complex Alchemy Chamber stretching out before him. Rowena handed Allen a thick, aged scroll and vanished without a trace, the space she occupied instantly returning to a chilling void.
Allen quickly unrolled the precious, weighty manuscript. The handwriting was starkly different from the founder's majestic appearance—it was crooked, sometimes even written backwards, likely for convenience during rushed experimentation. The scroll was full of numerous, detailed diagrams and drawings made by the author herself.
Allen immediately located the instructions for the Philosopher's Stone. In the adjacent alchemy chamber, he found all the necessary auxiliary ingredients laid out as recorded in the manuscript: "Alex," "Camoto," "mercury," "sulfur," "yellow blood salt," and "uncursed unicorn blood." The required alchemical techniques were meticulously marked on the parchment.
However, the recipe for the crucial key ingredient—the "Philosopher's Seed," or the starting element necessary for the final refinement—appeared to have been intentionally ripped out of the manuscript, likely by Ravenclaw herself.
After reading the book once, Allen pulled out a copy of the Jeber Handbook from his spatial storage. He recalled that the creation of one of Jeber's highest-level alchemical products, the "Stone of Immortality," was incredibly similar to the Philosopher's Stone Rowena Ravenclaw had been researching. Aside from some nomenclature differences, the functional effects of Jeber's Stone and Ravenclaw's Stone were practically identical.
The key discrepancy lay in the furnace operation. The specified furnace temperature in Jeber's Handbook was significantly higher than the incomplete temperature notation in Rowena's scroll. However, like Ravenclaw's manuscript, Jeber's Handbook was also incomplete regarding the method for creating the key starting stone.
Allen knew any further hesitation was pointless. He was already missing the key ingredient, so the creation of the final stone was impossible without synthesizing it first, but he could certainly run the final experiment.
Allen decided to take the risk: he would adjust the temperature settings of the ancient, massive furnace according to Jeber's instructions, trusting the combined knowledge of two master alchemists to guide the complex final stage.