After drinking the Blood of Magic, John felt as if the whole world had become clearer.
It was as though magical elements occasionally flashed before his eyes—not visible, but perceptible.
"The effect of the Blood of Magic is greater than I imagined."
John took out his wand and cast a small spell.
The erupting flames engulfed the basement. John was startled and barely managed to bring it under control.
"A single Fire-Making Charm produced the effect of Fiendfyre."
Level-4 fire was already terrifying. If he ever used level-4 Fiendfyre, it might just burn the house down.
He felt the impulse to upgrade Fiendfyre but thought better of it.
With only Level-3 magical control, he was already struggling to manage Level-4 flames. Trying to control Fiendfyre might bring the entire house down.
The basement now had fewer things in it. The chair that had been turned into an owl had already been taken out by Watson as a decoration.
When Laurel saw the lifelike owl, she thought John was keeping other owls down in the basement.
John had tried to restore the magically-altered items, but all attempts had failed.
"The magic surge unlocked all my potential."
Other than the fact that they didn't move, the animals looked completely real.
John thought that if he could stay in that state permanently, even Lord Voldemort might not be unbeatable.
Unfortunately, that state could not be summoned at will.
There was a magical creature known as an Obscurial in the wizarding world—formed when a young witch or wizard's magic becomes uncontrollable.
These beings were extremely dangerous, and Obscurials often had short lives.
It was said that in the past, an Obscurial riot in New York nearly exposed the entire wizarding world.
Thankfully, the situation was eventually resolved.
John knew he had to strictly control his use of the Blood of Magic, or he too might end up in that dangerous state.
That would be a price far too high to pay.
…
After leveling up Alchemy to Level 2, John found the craft much more manageable—especially with the help of the Philosopher's Stone.
He took out one of the nine badges he had crafted and carefully carved a rune into it.
Thurisaz — a rune known for its reflective properties and a touch of added luck.
When the carving was complete, a layer of light shimmered over the badge before it quickly returned to normal.
"Using the Philosopher's Stone and dragon's blood as the ink—this worked perfectly."
Nodding in satisfaction, John pinned the badge to his chest.
The badge shimmered like a galaxy, giving him an air of mystery. He planned to use the remaining eight to engrave other runes.
"John, someone's here to see you."
Mrs. Wick's gentle voice called out. John was puzzled—someone was looking for him? Could it be Harry?
He tapped his wand on the table, and everything on it returned neatly to his suitcase.
Having tidied up, he exited the basement.
He had expected to see Harry or maybe an old classmate.
Instead, he was greeted by an old man in a pale violet wizard robe, a crooked nose supporting half-moon spectacles.
Dumbledore.
Dumbledore had no airs. He wandered about the house, occasionally making quiet remarks of admiration.
When he saw the decorative owl, a flash of intelligence glinted in his eyes.
"Professor Dumbledore."
John's heart tightened, and he quickly rushed over.
Dumbledore noted John's stiffness and smiled kindly:
"Minerva wasn't wrong—you do have a talent for Transfiguration, John."
Hearing this, John felt a bit embarrassed.
Dumbledore, once a Transfiguration professor himself, was impressed. He could tell the craftsmanship far exceeded most wizards.
By his standards, even the Aurors would be put to shame by this owl.
Curious, Dumbledore wondered how John had managed it.
"A few days ago, Harry received a warning from the Ministry's Office for the Restriction of Underage Magic. Poor boy was quite upset."
Dumbledore chuckled at the memory of Harry's frustration.
John feigned ignorance, though he nervously tucked his wand behind him.
Dumbledore leaned in and said softly:
"No need to worry. Clever wizards always have special tricks. Harry will be fine—it's just a minor warning."
He gestured with two fingers to indicate how small the issue was.
John relaxed. Apparently, the "Chosen One" title had its perks.
So Dumbledore had come about the recent magical commotion. John invited him to sit.
Mrs. Wick brought a cup of tea and some freshly baked cookies.
"Excellent craftsmanship,"
Dumbledore praised after a bite, clearly delighted.
Mrs. Wick beamed at the sight of the happy old man.
After a bit of small talk, Dumbledore got to the point:
"John, the Philosopher's Stone has been in your care for quite some time now."
John's heart skipped—so that was it. He was here for the Stone.
Reluctantly, he nodded:
"Alright, Professor Dumbledore. I'll go get it right away."
"No, no, John."
Dumbledore waved him off.
"My old friend is in no hurry. The Stone is officially said to have been destroyed. You can keep it for the rest of your holiday."
"Then… what brings you here?"
John was confused. If it wasn't for the Stone, then why?
Dumbledore gave a mysterious smile:
"My old friend heard about a young wizard interested in alchemy and would like to meet you."
Old friend?
Nicolas Flamel!
John stood up in excitement. Dumbledore was not surprised.
Flamel was a living legend in alchemy—the only one to have ever created a Philosopher's Stone.
Dumbledore knew his old friend had accepted his fate and perhaps wanted to leave a legacy.
A successor might be a fitting storyteller.
"John, if you don't have other plans for the holidays, perhaps we could take a little trip abroad—of course, with your parents' permission."
Not allow him?
Impossible!
John agreed almost without thinking.
If anyone in the world was the true master of alchemy, it was Nicolas Flamel.
His magical sword was still unfinished—how could he pass this up?
After a quick discussion, Watson agreed easily, but Mrs. Wick wasn't so simple.
The mention of "going abroad" made her anxious.
"Come on, help me out."
"She's my wife."
"And?"
"That's gonna cost you!"
Eventually, through some intense silent negotiations involving promises to buy Watson Super Bubblegum and Chocolate Frogs, asking Laurel to deliver his letters, and having Tom perform tricks at a party—
Mrs. Wick relented. But on one condition: he must write a letter home every week.
"If you dare skip a letter, I'll tell your uncles."
That was her threat. Just thinking of his uncles made John break into a sweat.
Mrs. Wick was Slavic. Her brothers were the sort of men who wrestled bears shirtless in winter.
John had once visited his grandfather's house and saw his uncle take down a brown bear like it was nothing.
To cheer up little John, they even planned to take him hunting—until Mrs. Wick yelled at them.
If not for that, John might have become a seasoned hunter by now.
Having agreed on the time with Dumbledore, John returned to the basement to pack.
There wasn't much, but the Philosopher's Stone and ingredients needed special care.
After a round of fetch with Tom, John saw that Dumbledore had changed into different clothes.
He had suddenly decided to try a Muggle cruise ship.
What could John do? Looks like the international portkey trip would have to wait.