Hogwarts: This professor is too Muggle

"About six hundred and fifty years ago, when I was seventeen, I had just graduated from Beauxbatons and found a leisurely and interesting job in Paris, copying books, letters, and wills for various nobles. During those years, I preferred digging into the anecdotes and scandals of the nobility to the boring alchemy.

"I once wrote a letter to her aunt on behalf of a princess who had run away from her marriage, asking for travel expenses. In fact, the letter was not sent. I paid a few gold coins out of my own pocket and gave her a map to show her the way, so that she could fall in love with her fiancé.

"I enjoy copying wills for the Governor. His relatives try every possible means to find out the contents, first by bribing them with gold and silver, then by forcing them with swords. I always make a difficult decision after a difficult struggle, sometimes revealing false information to them, sometimes faking my own death to escape, and then hiding to watch them fight for territory and titles."

Nicolas Flamel had a smile on his face, a smile of nostalgia and amusement that Melvin had seen many times, always on Dumbledore's face when he was enjoying something sweet.

"These pleasant days lasted for two years, and then the signs of disaster began to show. An experienced sailor could smell the coming of a storm, and a scribe could see secrets in the letters of a noble, not to mention that I was a wizard."

Nicolas Flamel's muscles were old and weak, and his voice was weak, as if he were mumbling: "It started with the Mongol army on its westward march, which surrounded Kfar, a port city on the Black Sea. It was a fortified trade transit point. The soldiers used catapults to throw the bodies of those who had died of plague into the city, and the plague broke out.

"The deadly plague infected the residents of Kfar and the Tatar soldiers without distinguishing between friend and foe. In the end, there was no winner in this war. All the surviving Muggles had only one thought in their minds, which was to escape from this city of death.

"They were hysterical and panicked, with no one caring about the patients who were groaning and limp in the city, on the fortresses, and in the trenches. Some who survived the plague got up again and climbed onto the merchant ships. They lied about their illness and fled Kefa, thinking they had escaped the devil's pursuit. But they didn't know that the disease had already attached itself to their bones and was following them like a ghost."

The old man kept talking in a rather long-winded manner, but Melvin showed no sign of impatience. He didn't know why Nicolas Flamel suddenly mentioned the Black Death, but he was tactful enough not to interrupt and just listened quietly.

"The merchant ships passed through the Messina Strait, the southernmost part of Italy, and docked at the port of Messina in Sicily. They brought not only silk and spices, but also the seeds of disease. These seeds quickly took root and sprouted, and gave birth to new seeds, which used the flesh and blood of Muggles as nutrients and spread throughout Messina and Sicily.

"Genoa, Venice, Florence, and Paris were the four most prosperous cities in Europe at the time. Their convenient transportation and large populations provided fertile soil for the virus. Genoa was the first to fall. In just three months, the prosperous city was practically deserted. Then came Florence, where the plague left nearly 70,000 bodies.

"At that time, Muggles didn't have systematic medicine. The residents believed they were possessed by the devil, and they petitioned in a joint letter to bring the remains of the martyred Saint Agatha to quell the devil... I still remember the letter the archbishop wrote to the Vatican, briefly describing the symptoms of the plague: first a sudden high fever, then several days of severe pain, and finally death."

Nicolas Flamel paused. "The manner of death of the priest who delivered the letter was exactly as described in the letter."

The plague followed the priests to Avignon. The capital of the Pope quickly fell. The church cemeteries were soon filled. The living were unwilling and dared not touch the dead. The bodies were thrown into the pits. Many of the bodies that were not buried properly were dug out by wild dogs, who tore them apart and devoured them, leaving their intestines and pancreas scattered everywhere.

"To get rid of these corpses, the Pope soon declared the Rhine a holy river, a river leading to heaven. The co-governors ordered the bodies to be thrown into the river to cleanse their souls and sins. Then the plague spread across Europe, including Paris where I was.

"At that time, I didn't leave. I relied on my status as a wizard to observe plague patients everywhere. In order to get closer to them, I dressed up as a Muggle doctor, a doctor who treated the plague. I still remember how Muggle doctors dressed up back then. They needed to wear robes that covered their entire bodies, thick gloves, and a bird-beak mask with a sponge stuffed inside. After each use, the mask had to be soaked in vinegar mixed with cloves and cinnamon."

Nicolas Flamel sniffed, as if he could smell the smell again through time, and showed a disgusted expression: "It smells terrible."

"..."

Melvin had read that period of history, but the written records were completely different from the stories told by the people who had experienced them in person. It was as if the curtain covering history had been lifted to reveal a corner, a vivid and real corner.

That was six hundred years ago.

"Muggles say the plague is a demon, and the disease has indeed created hell. Men and women, young and old, will develop lumps in their groins and armpits after infection. When the lumps grow to the size of apples or eggs, these tumors will mature and spread throughout the body in a very short time, causing blue and purple spots to appear on the skin. Sometimes they appear in patches, sometimes just in spots."

Nicolas Flamel gestured with his hand: "These markings are a sign of death."

Melvin held the wine glass in silence, trying to persuade the old wizard that the description did not need to be so detailed.

"I wanted to use the mirror to show you what I remember, but I'm too old and it's been so long. Those memories are mixed up with other memories, and I can't make sense of them."

Nicolas Flamel looked at Melvin apologetically, paused, and then continued: "Once a person shows these symptoms, anyone who sees his sickness with their own eyes, hears his cough, or touches his skin or clothes before carrying him to the grave will die within a few days. There is no effective way to prevent it."

Next to my shop lived a butcher from Siena. The neighbors called him Fatty. He buried his five children with his own hands and then contracted the plague. Refusing to return home, he came to me and left a will, leaving his property to his wife. Two days later, his wife, wrapped up tightly, came to me and left a will, leaving her property to her nephew. Her nephew died the next afternoon...

Nicolas Flamel vaguely remembered the crooked signatures at the end of the letters. The fat butcher's name was Agnolo de Tout: "This happened every week. The sick person left a letter with me, and his family members kept leaving letters with me. In the end, no one received these letters."

Dead bodies filled every corner. No one dared approach the decaying bodies, and families could only drag the bodies out of the room and dump them at the door. When the situation reached its worst, anyone infected with the disease would be expelled from their family. Family members abandoned each other, and couples fled on their own. The streets of towns were filled with corpses and the dying.

“Paris itself was very dirty at that time, and the things excreted from their bodies also emitted an unbearable stench. Whether it was sweat or feces, saliva or exhaled air, it was all tainted with the smell of death and disease. The splashing body fluids were turbid and smelly, mixed with black blood.

"I mixed in with the porters and doctors, moving these abandoned people out of the city and to the firewood pile. I threw the bodies directly into the crematorium. If I came across patients who were still alive, I persuaded them to lie down on the bodies, then sprinkled kerosene on them and lit the fire.

"Muggles couldn't do magic, and there was no anesthesia back then, so they could clearly feel the flames burning their flesh inch by inch. I believe the process was extremely painful, but I could clearly see the smiles of relief on their faces."

He thought of those suffering, a silvery pity flowing through his eyes. He took a deep breath. "With the arrival of winter, the ground has frozen hard, and fewer hyenas are digging for corpses in the wild, but the plague shows no sign of stopping. Members of the crematorium and the porters have fallen one by one. To avoid getting into trouble, I've changed my identity three times. Perenelle wanted to take me away, but I refused."

"At that time, I entered a strange state." Nicolas Flamel paused. "Every time I burned a patient, I could feel a strange magic lingering around me, faint but clear. At that time, many rare and magical animals had not yet become extinct. I have seen many magical powers, but none as strange as that one. That magic came from Muggles.

“I tried to analyze this magic through alchemy, but I couldn’t touch it or capture it. This strange magic temporarily freed me from the shadow of the plague.

"..."

Melvin looked up at the old wizard with surprise in his eyes.

"In 1350, Paris was practically a deserted city. In the quiet of the night, I received a clue to the mystery," Nicolas Flamel said softly. "A figure in a black cloak appeared in my dream. He told me I would soon receive a magical book, urging me to study it diligently and understand it thoroughly. Perhaps I would gain extraordinary power and end this disaster."

"Is this... a prophecy?" Melvin asked tentatively.

As one of the most peculiar areas of magic, prophecy has always been shrouded in mystery. Divination magic is just the experience summarized by wizards in the past. True prophets rely solely on talent to make predictions. This talent may be the third eye like Cassandra Trelawney, the mumbling like Sybill Trelawney, or even a dream.

"I do have some talent for divination, and I can see a glimpse of the future through the crystal ball, but I can only rely on the crystal ball." Nicolas Flamel shook his head. "I am absolutely sure that it is not a prophecy."

"Did someone cast a spell on you?"

"In the past few hundred years, I have also tried to find the answer, but to no avail." Nicolas Flamel said, "Anyway, this dream came true. The next evening, a merchant who had fled from Florence came to me. I am sure that he had no trace of magic on him; he was a complete Muggle.

"He begged to trade a book for some food and money, which was nothing to me, so I exchanged two florins and three loaves of black bread for that huge, thick ancient book. Perhaps you have heard of it... The Book of Abraham."

Melvin had indeed heard of the name of this book; it was recorded in history books along with the name Nicolas Flamel: "An ancient alchemical secret scroll, recording the method for refining the Philosopher's Stone."

Nicolas Flamel spread out his hands, a silver light flickered in his palms, and a translucent illusory book floated in the light.

"Its cover isn't made of any material I know of. It's neither animal leather nor tree bark. The inner volume is made of Egyptian papyrus. The metal buckle on the book is ordinary brass. I suspect it was added by a wizard later. It's covered in text or strange symbols..."

Listening to Nicolas Flamel's introduction, Melvin quietly observed the light and shadow of the book.

"Forgive me, I can only show it this way. The title page contains the author's warning, with a severe curse attached. Anyone who peeks at it, except the high priest and the scribe, will die." Nicolas Flamel paused and said softly, "This is not a bluff. I once asked a Hebrew scholar to translate one of the chapters..."

Mel listened to the old wizard's introduction and narration, feeling a little curious.

Just curious.

After Nicolas Flamel obtained the ancient book, he tried hard to study the contents recorded in the book, but the content was too obscure. Not only Hebrew, but also a large number of Egyptian hieroglyphs, Sumerian cuneiform, Mayan scripts, and even oracle bone scripts and Nazca lines. Ancient runes were the easiest to understand among them.

Even a wizard could not learn so many languages ​​in a short period of time. Nicolas Flamel, who was eager to achieve results, found a Hebrew scholar, who excerpted and shuffled the contents of the book. Out of caution, he also added a lot of irrelevant content, forming a messy essay, and gave it to the Hebrew scholar for translation.

The first two paragraphs of the article were Hebrew poems, which the scholar translated smoothly. However, less than two weeks later, the scholar fell ill and died.

In order to make up for his mistake, Nicolas Flamel quickly buried the scholar, took his family away from the epidemic area, paid a large sum of money as compensation, and took good care of them for two months. He only dared to leave after making sure that no one was infected.

After that, he never dared to try to let anyone else touch the Book of Abraham, not even his wife.

Transfiguration follows Gamp's Law, alchemy follows the Basic Law, and there are no shortcuts to language learning and content interpretation. The multiple languages ​​of the book content are not to prevent others from interpreting it, but the relevant content can only be expressed in the most original language, and any translation will cause ambiguity.

He studied the languages ​​of many ancient civilizations alone. Even though Nicolas Flamel drank brain stimulants like water, his progress in interpreting the books was still slow. In the spring of 1351, he finally understood the ancient books.

The plague has gradually subsided.

"I've seen too many Muggles burn to charcoal in front of my eyes. The faint magic from the Muggles and the Book of Abraham gave me an illusion. I thought I was special and that the suffering of Muggles needed to be saved by me. I was their savior."

Nicolas Flamel dispersed the light in his palm. "But the reality is, Muggles don't need anyone to save them. I'm just an ordinary wizard with some talent."

Chapter 76 The Secret of the Legendary Wizard

"From then on, I stopped studying the Book of Abraham and instead traveled around areas where the plague hadn't completely subsided, helping residents burn corpses and sending infected Muggles on their final journey. In my spare time, I read books and studied alchemy.

"In the early 15th century, Paris would still experience intermittent outbreaks of small-scale plague. Decades later, Muggles completely emerged from the shadow of the Black Death, and I finally discovered that the magic that Muggles had given me, which I could not capture, had always been hidden deep in my soul.

"By then, I had already figured out the method for refining the Philosopher's Stone. I used a ritual to fuse those tiny strands of magic into the ruby, which later became the Philosopher's Stone."

Nicolas Flamel finished his story slowly, moistening his throat with the mead on the table.

For the past half hour, the old wizard has turned the topic of drama and film to the Black Death six hundred years ago. The oral accounts of those who experienced it have a shocking sense of epic, but this allegorical guessing game is very boring, and any interpretation seems to make sense.

Is this kind of magic the key element in refining the Philosopher's Stone?

The magic power Nicolas Flamel collected was of a different nature than the one he collected?

"..."

Melvin thought for a moment and couldn't help but say, "Sir, if you have anything you want to tell me, just tell me directly... What exactly is that magic power drawn from Muggles? Are there any hidden dangers? Could this also be the knowledge in that book, and is it cursed?"

"No, the knowledge I have gained through my own exploration has nothing to do with Abraham, and there is no curse. I am telling you these things because I am about to die. Looking back on the past, do you know that Albus regards death as a new adventure? I am different from him." Nicolas Flamel's answer was very frank.

He had seen too much death before he achieved immortality, and realized that the lives of Muggles and wizards alike were short, and that the lives of humans and ants were just as fragile.

Over the past few hundred years, he had enjoyed the pleasures brought by wealth and a long life, but as his body gradually aged, his flesh withered, his bones became brittle, and the slightest collision would cause him injuries. This fragility always reminded him of the plague patients thrown on the streets, which made him feel terrified.

When he was about three or four hundred years old, he tried his best to avoid putting himself in danger, hiding his identity and living in seclusion.

Until fifty years ago, an uneducated wizard and a reckless Muggle broke into his residence and dragged him to put out a fire that almost burned down the whole of Paris.

He had become more open-minded after that, but not to the same extent as Albus.

After all, he was just an ordinary wizard with some talent.

Sunlight shone in from the window. The old wizard sitting in the bright light took a sip of mead, picked up a French fry and put it down again. When he took a deep breath, the air passed through the loose gaps between his teeth, making a hissing sound, which relieved the soreness and swelling of his gums.

Seeing the legendary wizard who was just telling history make this gesture, Melvin suddenly felt that he had become much more lively. He used to be a symbol standing there, but now he was an ordinary wizard who came alive.

This feeling made him feel a little sad involuntarily, and he knew the reason very well - this ordinary old wizard was about to die.

"Spending so much time with Albus has certainly tainted me with some bad habits," Nicolas Flamel chuckled. "Regarding that magical power, I've spent hundreds of years researching documents and have indeed gained some information. Throughout history, we're not the only ones who have captured that magic. The four founders of Hogwarts, the wizard Merlin, and the dark wizard Hercule, have also done so."

"They're all legendary wizards." Melvin's mind moved, and he asked thoughtfully, "Do they spread their reputations and influence among the wizarding community to gather magic power?"

"Emotions are the emanation of the soul, and the soul is the source of magic." Nicolas Flamel spoke slowly. "The four founders taught their students to advocate courage, wisdom, kindness, and honor. As more and more wizard students spread their names, they grew faster and faster, and in a very short time, they far surpassed other wizards of their time."

"You mean...Merlin and Herpo are like this too?" Melvin reacted.

"It's just my one-sided guess." Nicolas Flamel carefully considered his words. "Perhaps they themselves don't realize that their growth rate, which far exceeds that of their peers, isn't due to talent, or isn't solely due to talent."

"They absorbed this magic..." Melvin repeated softly.

The Big Four founded the school and it grew rapidly;

Merlin became a legend after assisting King Arthur in ascending the throne;

Haierbo's life story is unclear, but his reputation is indeed great.

He thought of his own growth process. He was favored by four houses during the sorting. In the following years, he showed his talents but was still within normal limits, just like his senior sister Seraphina Picquery, and just like Hermione now.

After receiving the gift from the horned water snake, he completed his transformation in just two years.

With the advent of the Shadow Mirror, if nothing unexpected happens, Melvin Levent's name will become known in the wizarding world.

Melvin looked at the old wizard sitting in the sun with a strange look in his eyes.

Compared with the legendary wizards mentioned above, although Mr. Flamel has a loud reputation, he seems to have no deterrent power, and there is no news of any duel record.

"It is precisely because I am weaker than them that I have survived until now." Nicolas Flamel seemed to sense his impolite thoughts, but did not mind. "There is a Muggle saying that there is no free lunch in the world. Transfiguration cannot summon food out of thin air. The same is true for magic. Any gain must be paid for."

There was a breeze blowing outside the window, mixed with the faint sound of pedestrians' footsteps. Melvin frowned slightly. The old wizard's voice was very soft, but it could be clearly heard by his ears.

"The magic power gained from others contains the will of others. Thousands of weak wills gather together, like streams flowing into the ocean and creating huge waves. This collective will constantly impacts the wizard's own will and distorts his or her own thoughts." The old wizard's voice was calm. "By that time, will the wizard who is swept up by the will of others still be his or her original self?"

Melvin thought about what he said, and a faint chill arose at his back, like the spring chill after the snow in February thawed.

In a matter of seconds, Melvin suddenly understood many things: the reason for Helbo's bizarre suicide, Merlin being trapped by the lake maiden Vivian in his later years, and the disintegration of the four founders...