How was magic created?
When Dawn first considered that question, the first thing that came to mind was still collective consciousness.
Since ancient times, countless people had believed in ideas such as immortality, transcendence, and the pursuit of the supernatural. Humanity had always longed for something beyond the ordinary.
And...
Those thoughts had not only appeared after civilization reached a certain stage.
Even during the earliest periods of human history, perhaps even earlier than that, people already possessed such aspirations.
For example, humanity's worship of lightning and the sun, rituals, prayers for rain, and the myths passed down through generations.
Dawn believed magic might have originated from the collective yearning within living beings for something extraordinary.
But then—
Another question surfaced in his mind.
Did collective consciousness create magic?
Or did magic exist first, giving rise to collective consciousness?
Which came first?
The chicken or the egg?
"What do you think?" Dawn looked toward Flamel, wanting to hear the old alchemist's opinion.
Yet unexpectedly—
The infuriating old man merely spread his hands and answered bluntly:
"I don't know either. You just looked like you were thinking something dangerous, so I distracted you."
Creak—
The surface of the tea inside Dawn's cup rippled under the pressure of his grip.
He stared at Flamel with a smile that clearly was not a smile.
But Flamel only laughed loudly.
"All right, child, don't bully an old man."
"You should understand that there are no shortcuts in magic. Often, the process of searching is itself the process of finding answers."
The alchemy master spoke calmly.
At that moment, the house-elves finally arrived carrying the prepared dishes. With respectful expressions, they lined up and filled the empty table with food.
"Mmm, a taste I haven't enjoyed in a very long time."
Flamel cut into a steak and took a bite, looking genuinely delighted.
"Won't you try some too, child?"
Dawn remained silent for a moment.
After thinking briefly, he abandoned the idea of forcefully extracting answers and simply sighed before picking up his own knife and fork.
After all, ever since the second morning class ended, he had been waiting outside the Hufflepuff common room for Flamel.
He had not even eaten lunch.
For a time, the only sounds at the table were those of utensils and chewing.
A while later, Dawn placed his fork down.
"One moment."
He glanced at the time and stood up.
"My first afternoon class is about to begin. I'll excuse myself for now."
"Oh? You're leaving already?"
Flamel raised an eyebrow, sounding faintly relieved.
Although chatting with the boy had been unexpectedly pleasant, and despite the fact that Dawn showed none of the evil nature Dumbledore had described, Flamel still did not wish to spend all his precious time talking.
After finally obtaining a healthy body again, he wanted to experience more of the world.
However—
The moment that thought crossed his mind, another boy entered the kitchen.
He brushed past Fred and sat directly in the seat Dawn had just vacated.
It was Blaise.
The Slytherin boy folded his hands together and completely ignored the faintly pained look on Flamel's face before continuing the conversation.
"Mr. Flamel, setting alchemy aside for now..."
"You personally lived through the era of the witch hunts. Could you tell me something about the Church? To be honest, I'm extremely curious about that organization."
After a brief pause, Dawn refined the question.
"During the witch hunts, were there wizards working for the Church?"
"Yes. Without question."
Though somewhat helpless, Flamel still answered seriously.
"Of course, their numbers were not large. The main force hunting wizards was still composed of ordinary Muggles."
Dawn immediately continued.
"Then do you know where the Church's wizards came from?"
"Were they simply children of Muggles who later chose to side with the Church?"
"Or..."
His eyes flickered slightly.
"Did the Church possess some special method of granting magic to Muggles and artificially creating wizards?"
Artificially creating wizards?
Flamel's brows lifted slightly.
"What a bold idea."
There was clear appreciation in his gaze.
He genuinely liked curious young wizards whose thoughts were not bound by conventional thinking.
Even if Albus had spoken endless amounts of criticism about this boy.
And so, Flamel answered seriously.
"I don't know."
"..."
Dawn stared at him expressionlessly.
Seeing the suspicious look in the boy's eyes, Flamel sighed.
"Child, living a long time does not mean one knows every secret."
"I had very little contact with the Church. In fact, during the height of the witch hunts, I wasn't even in Europe."
After a slight pause, he continued.
"However, speaking purely from my own perspective, the idea of granting magic to Muggles is theoretically possible."
"After all, as I said before, everything is composed of magic."
Everything is composed of magic.
Hearing that sentence again, Dawn should not have paid much attention to it.
Yet within this context, a strange thought suddenly occurred to him.
His expression turned odd as he looked at Flamel.
Was it possible that during the experiment of Returning Matter to Magic, Flamel had also attempted to reduce Muggles into pure magic?
The thought only made Dawn even more curious about the experiment.
"1521..."
He silently repeated the year in his mind, engraving it deeply into memory.
Later, he intended to investigate exactly what had happened during that year.
Even if Flamel refused to speak, perhaps traces of the experiment's consequences still existed somewhere in historical records.
Perhaps he could glimpse the truth through them.
After glancing at Flamel again, Dawn asked several more questions regarding the Church.
Back and forth, again and again.
Eventually, Flamel looked mentally exhausted.
Only then did Dawn finally accept that the old alchemist truly knew little about the organization.
So after a brief silence, Dawn controlled Blaise's body to eat a few more pieces of steak, filling his stomach before standing up to leave.
The most pressing questions had already been asked.
There were still many other things he wanted to know, but for now, he needed to let his overworked mind rest.
Although this conversation had solved absolutely nothing and instead created even more mysteries, Dawn still found himself strangely pleased despite the frustration.
He enjoyed talking with Nicolas Flamel.
Even if the old man sometimes spoke in riddles, he was completely different from Dumbledore, who constantly repeated the same lofty principles.
Talking with Flamel felt more like an exchange between two wizards exploring magic together.
Meanwhile, after watching Dawn disappear through the kitchen door, Flamel slowly pressed his lips together.
His gaze gradually deepened.
Though his hands still held the knife and fork, he no longer cared about the food before him.
Beneath his calm expression, turbulent emotions churned violently.
A very long time passed.
Finally, Flamel let out a soft sigh and suppressed those complicated thoughts.
Quietly, almost like a whisper to himself, he murmured:
"I truly am sorry, Albus."
After leaving the kitchen, Dawn headed directly toward the library without stopping, intending to search for materials related to the year 1521.
However, while walking, he shifted part of his attention back toward Fred.
The first class that afternoon for the Gryffindor third-years was Transfiguration.
The moment Dawn entered the classroom while controlling Fred's body, he saw a crowd of students gathered noisily around a bald head.
As soon as the bald boy noticed Dawn entering, his eyes lit up.
He shoved his way through the crowd and lunged directly toward him, hands reaching for Dawn's neck.
Dawn casually stepped sideways.
The bald boy missed completely and rolled across the floor.
Frowning slightly, Dawn asked in confusion:
"...Who are you?"
The bald boy froze.
His face twitched violently.
"You bastard, Fred!"
"You ruined me this badly and now you're pretending not to recognize me?!"
"Oh. George."
Dawn recognized the voice and shrugged.
"Sorry. Your new hairstyle is a bit too dazzling. I didn't recognize you immediately."
"And whose fault is that?!"
George looked like he was on the verge of tears.
"You stole my homework and then dug a giant pit for me to fall into!"
Although George had suspected the wager was a trap, he never imagined Fred would sabotage him so thoroughly.
Before Snape dragged him to the hospital wing, George had genuinely thought he might die.
Touching his smooth scalp, George shivered as he remembered the experience.
"Professor Snape is terrifying."
"I'm sure Snape would be delighted to hear you say that."
Dawn replied casually before walking past George, whose expression shifted between lingering fear and relief, and sitting down at his desk.
Out of habit, George still sat beside him.
Dawn turned his head and glanced at George, who was clearly plotting something again.
Then he suddenly thought of Voldemort and asked:
"By the way, George. What happened to the Slytherin student sent to the hospital wing this morning? Has he woken up yet?"
"...Huh? Oh, that little snake?"
George reacted a beat late but still answered.
"He hadn't woken up when I left. Madam Pomfrey gave him a sleeping potion, so he'll probably stay asleep for a while longer."
Then George's expression became strange.
"But honestly... I never expected something like that to happen in Slytherin."
Dawn raised an eyebrow.
As expected of Hogwarts, rumors spread unbelievably fast.
Even George, who had only just left the hospital wing, already knew quite a bit.
"What do people think happened?" Dawn asked, wanting to know what theories were currently spreading among the students.
George did not answer immediately.
Instead, he first glanced around cautiously before lowering his voice.
"I'm not sure myself, but a lot of people think some pure-blood student in Slytherin did it."
Dawn paused.
The rumors had developed in a direction he had not expected.
"Why?"
"Well..."
George looked around again, especially toward the Slytherin side of the classroom.
"I don't really want to badmouth people behind their backs, but honestly, the atmosphere in Slytherin is weird."
"The way pure-bloods bully half-bloods feels practically traditional at this point. And the victim was a half-blood wizard."
Dawn rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
Surprisingly logical.
After thinking briefly, he continued.
"Then George, do you know about the bloody message on the wall? Voldemort's name was written there."
"Oh, that?"
Unexpectedly, George nodded.
"Some Ravenclaw students said the message might just be a setup."
"After all, with Headmaster around, if You-Know-Who were really trying to come back, he probably wouldn't announce it so openly."
"We all thought that made sense."
Dawn's eyebrow lifted slightly.
So even without Dumbledore officially addressing the matter yet, the atmosphere within the castle had not spiraled completely out of control after all.
___________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor